


when it's time

by Bootstrap_Paradox



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: (for the last part at least), Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, and with one additional post-canon part, if i did this right... you might cry, it's basically ep3 cold open but extra 20k of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-10-07 00:16:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20515874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bootstrap_Paradox/pseuds/Bootstrap_Paradox
Summary: Four times Crowley wanted to say "I love you" but didn't, and one time he did.The only thing worse than pining is six thousand years of it.





	1. ∞

**Author's Note:**

> Title inspired by Green Day's "When It's Time" (lyrics: www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/greenday/whenitstime.html)
> 
> Warnings for the entire story include: (somewhat) graphic depictions of violence, at least one instance of gore, mentions of homophobia, discussions of complex and controversial religious ideas (and anti-religious rhetoric), and blatant historical inaccuracy. Probably. I haven't checked every single thing.
> 
> Part one out of six (all six have already been written and edited).

[∞] **Heaven, Hell and Earth, the dawn of time**

Crowley had always loved Aziraphale.

Well, maybe not quite _always_, but certainly from the first days of creation. And he liked him even before that too. He wasn’t called Crowley back then, of course. He was called… he didn’t even remember what he was called. It was a long time ago. Back then, bored to his ethereal bones up in heaven, perfectly aware that he was a nobody in a long line of nobodies, and feeling rather comfortable in that. Secure. Hidden. Doing what he was told, and pinching himself hard every time his mind made the mistake of questioning the orders.

Back then, Aziraphale was the only person who persistently made him smile. Out of all the angels – angels he hated vehemently, with the power of a burning supernova – Aziraphale had always stood out. Not because he was powerful, or successful, or influential… because he was kind. And he didn’t flaunt it either. He wasn’t the righteous, holier-than-thou kind of angel that Crowley was so used to seeing. Didn’t put it on display, didn’t shove it down everyone’s throats in the hopes of getting promoted. It was as if he was made out of affection and compassion, like it was so natural to him, he didn’t even have to make an effort. And Crowley envied him for it. Envy… or was it admiration? He was never very good at describing emotions.

That’s how it began. Day after day, passing him by in corridors, catching a brief glimpse of his eyes at a meeting, knowing they were unlikely to ever cross paths in the celestial kingdom. “It’s alright”, Crowley thought. “He’s way out of my league”, he persuaded himself. “Angels aren’t even _supposed_ to have feelings for other angels”, a voice in his head would remind him. And somehow, that almost helped.

Then, things changed. Then, the Almighty announced Her great, big, ineffable plan, and all the angels jumped at each other’s throats, vying for Her to notice them. Meanwhile, Crowley stood aside and concentrated all his will on keeping his mouth shut. As anyone could guess, it didn’t work out particularly well.

-But why put that tree in the garden in the first place if they aren’t allowed to eat from it? – Burst out of him during a conversation without prior notice. – I mean, if they were _my_ children, I would’ve never kept poison somewhere they can get to it. It’s ridiculous!

-Ah. – Gabriel, who _just happened to be nearby_, gave him a smile that you usually give to a child when they ask you something adorably stupid. – You see, uh, my dear, - that alone hurt Crowley’s soul on a metaphysical level, - the creatures were gifted with free will. They get to choose whether to follow God’s word, or to disobey it.

-She’s all-knowing though, isn’t she? – Crowley pressed on. – Which means she already knows what they will choose. She doesn’t need to give them the opportunity to fuck up.

-Well, - Gabriel seemed to be stumbling over his words, which, God forbid, could never happen to someone like Gabriel, - I’m sure there is some greater purpose to it. It’s the plan, surely. Ineffable.

-Yes. – Crowley forced himself to nod. – Yes, surely, there is.

He could’ve stopped right there. Could’ve walked away, and keep it to himself, and forget all about it. But I think we all know that he didn’t.

Crowley couldn’t help but ask questions. And, before he knew it, he found himself falling. Fast. Low. And hard.

*

Being a demon wasn’t actually all that bad. Sure, the air conditioning was nonexistent, and the bureaucracy was even worse than up there (which was to be expected – he was literally in hell), but he rather preferred their style. Besides, he got to do cool things. They were evil things, of course, but that didn’t bother him nearly as much as he thought it would. At least everyone around him was honest about it. At least he knew _exactly_ what he was doing. Hypocrisy, Crowley discovered, was far more difficult for him to tolerate than outright evil. 

His first big gig was a bit of a mystery.

-Get out there and make some trouble? – Crowley repeated, raising an eyebrow at Beelzebub, but was promptly ignored. – What is that supposed to mean?

-Do what your wicked heart tells you. – The demon responded – and, with nothing more than a finger click, transformed Crowley into a big dark snake.

He decided it suited him rather nicely. So nicely, in fact, that he never got rid of the outfit. Well, not the entire thing anyway.

That day, he got to see the Almighty’s new pet project up close, got to speak to the brand-new humans and see for himself what all the fuss was about. He wasn’t particularly impressed. Like all the angels (and, subsequently, all the demons), these humans were made in Her image, yet they lacked something. Something very important. And, there was this tree… it wasn’t long till he came up with his own idea of trouble.

It wasn’t the only event to occur on that day. There, while he was watching Eve study the tree with a curious gaze, he noticed something else. Someone else. Aziraphale. Standing in the distance, guarding the tree, leaning on his famous flaming sword. For a moment (or perhaps longer than a moment) Crowley forgot why he was there in the first place. Surely, the angel would never speak to him. Would never even look at him again, not after his change of careers… and not after what he was about to do. If Crowley didn’t have a chance to be his friend _then_, he certainly didn’t have one now. Or did he?

“Do what your wicked heart tells you”, Crowley said, as he crawled up the edge of the garden where Aziraphale stood on top of the wall, staring into the desert. It wouldn’t work, of course… but what was the harm in trying?

And the risk paid off.

-…I gave it away! – Was the line that did it for Crowley.

That’s when he knew. Speechless, standing at the edge of the garden, next to this wonderful, beautiful angel with his hypnotic eyes and velvety voice and that quite indescribable smile. He gave it away! Not because he was trying to prove something to whomever, not to look better than he was… just because he couldn’t do otherwise. Out of all Almighty’s creations, he thought, this angel was, no doubt, the best.

And thus, Crowley found himself falling for the second time that week.


	2. 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley "accidentally" runs into Aziraphale in 11th century Jerusalem and discovers that the angel is, once again, struggling with his heavenly orders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is technically the first chapter, but yes, it is titled "5". Trust me, it will make sense.

[5] **Jerusalem, 1099**

The sun shone brightly on the city of Jerusalem, its beams bouncing off the stained glass in the windows and filling the skies with a soft white sparkle. Crowley tucked a strand of his hair behind his ear, the corner of his mouth going up in a subtle smile. He enjoyed sunny weather. He liked the way the heat licked his skin and made his face feel warm. A nice, gentle sort of warm; so different from the blinding rage of hellfire. The perfect conditions for a stroll.

It was the third time he was passing along that particular street, Crowley figured. The one with the dilapidated water well, and white cobblestone, and grubby-looking kids playing in the dust behind the house. He wasn’t lost, of course. Crowley had a most wonderful sense of direction. It’s just this time, he didn’t really have a direction. He was searching for something – someone – but he had no way of knowing where that search would lead him, and he was okay with that. He wasn’t in a hurry. The hot wind rustled his long hair and his robe, and tickled his bare ankles; the new sunglasses felt just right on his nose; and he was trying out this new thing called “freckles”. He would find Aziraphale in time. He could _sense_ him.

Eventually, walking along the same streets got too boring for him. He left the outskirts and headed for the city center again. And, sure enough, it only took him five circles around the main square to pinpoint his goal. Aziraphale - head tilted, eyes focused on the ground, standing under the shadow of a fruit stand. “Oblivious”, Crowley thought, holding back a grin. Now he would employ his usual tactic of moving himself in angel’s field of vision and looking vaguely bored, waiting for Aziraphale to notice and make the first move. It worked without fail seven times in the last few centuries… but not this time.

-Aziraphale? – Crowley stopped in front of him, examining his figure from his feet to the tips of his hair. - Fancy running into you here!

Slowly, Aziraphale looked up and straightened his shoulders, and there was a tiny delay in that motion. Not long enough to make any conclusions, but just long enough to give Crowley pause.

-Crowley. – He said, and forced a polite smile. – You crept up on me.

-I didn’t mean to. – The demon mumbled, a bit more softly than he intended. – Is there any particular purpose to you standing next to that stand? Cause I think you’re scaring off potential customers.

-No reason. – Aziraphale replied, stepping aside immediately.

-You sure? – Crowley raised an eyebrow. – Do you want some dates, or figs, maybe? I’ve got pockets full of change. – He put his palm in his pocket and jingled its contents.

-No. – Aziraphale shook his head. – No, let’s just, you know, go for a walk. We haven’t seen each other for a while…

-True…

-…we can catch up.

And before Crowley had a chance to reply, he turned around and headed for the nearest street that led away from the square. Crowley was too preoccupied with excitement to notice Aziraphale’s still absent gaze and heavy step.

They traversed the city in vast, meandering circles, and watched the locals tend to their gardens, clean their houses, watch their children and gossip over beer and bread. The sun kept climbing up the sky, heating the road and the top of their heads. Crowley kicked a pebble and bit his lip. The tiny thing hurt his big toe. Soon enough, as if in revenge, he proceeded to kick another pebble.

-…and then I had to explain to them, - Aziraphale continued, - that no, I am not a malevolent spirit, and not a spirit at all. A normal human being. Completely ordinary! Nothing to see here. – He chuckled.

-Did they believe you? – Crowley asked, already anticipating the reply.

-Of course not. – The angel scoffed. – Half the village began to worship me, and the other half was preparing a ceremonial fire. And that is exactly why you shouldn’t perform miracles in front of unsuspecting mortals. – He sighed. – Even if their crops are dying.

-What did you do?

-Wiped their memories. – Aziraphale shrugged. – Then had to sit through an hour-long lecture on non-disclosure, from Uriel.

-I’d prefer the ceremonial fire. – Crowley smirked.

-What, to get discorporated and then suffer an even longer lecture about respecting God-given property? – Aziraphale retorted. – No, thank you. Ah, well, it wasn’t _that_ bad. Now about a decade ago, when… - He paused, and turned, studying Crowley’s face. – Sorry. – He muttered. – I keep going on and on about myself, you can barely fit a word with my chit-chat.

-Absolutely no problem. – The demon assured him.

He didn’t mind the angel talking in the slightest. It was a rare, cherished opportunity – a day out like this. They only met a few times in a century. A dinner here, a casual conversation there… Crowley could see him much more often if he wanted to, but he stopped himself. He didn’t want to seem too pushy. He knew that, every time they met, the angel would spend the first few minutes looking around apprehensively, as if expecting immediate punishment. Aziraphale wanted him there, he wanted his company. Yet he could never forget, Crowley thought, the possible consequences of their meetings.

That’s why Crowley savored every minute spent in the angel’s company. He would watch him closely, trying his best to memorize every detail of Aziraphale’s face, remember his voice, his ridiculous choice of words, and his stories, and his precious, beautiful smiles. Five thousand years, and he was still as in love with him as on day one. Even more so, maybe. When he was close to Aziraphale, he felt light; his heart raced, his palms turned slippery with sweat, and his body felt all bubbly and soft. He found it hard to concentrate on anything else when he was around his angel. Just ten minutes ago, the sleeves of their robes brushed against each other accidentally, and he hadn’t stopped thinking about it ever since.

-Talk all you like. – Crowley repeated with a gentle smile.

-Right. – Aziraphale nodded. – I really hope I’m not being rude. It’s just, - he paused, - the duties can be challenging to deal with sometimes. You know. No one else to discuss this with. Humans don’t understand, and the other angels don’t understand – what it’s like to be here, I mean. – He looked at Crowley, and Crowley looked at him. - You’re the only one who gets it. – Aziraphale said.

And Crowley felt like melting through the cobblestone, straight down into Hastur’s office.

-Why are you here? – Aziraphale asked.

-Sorry? – Words stopped making sense to Crowley all of a sudden.

-Here, in Jerusalem. – Aziraphale elaborated. – Are you on official business?

-Nah. – He shook his head. – I’ve heard rumors, that’s all. Came here to take one last good look at the city. – He explained. – Before all hell breaks loose. The Crusaders, I mean. I didn’t make it to Antioch before they arrived and that’s a bloody mess now. Quite literally.

-Ah. – Was all Aziraphale managed to say.

-You? – Crowley proceeded to ask. – Do you have a job in the city, or…

-I do. – Aziraphale responded before Crowley finished the sentence. – Which I should probably get back to, instead of wasting my time here.

-Wh-? – Was the sound that Crowley’s mouth made.

He stopped, dead in his tracks, staring at Aziraphale like he was an unexplainable natural phenomenon. This was beyond Crowley’s social aptitudes. They’ve been chatting happily for the last forty minutes, no indication of hostility or aggravation, and now Aziraphale has turned ever so slightly away from him, avoiding his gaze.

-It’s… _inappropriate_, this. – Aziraphale muttered. – This… small-talk. What if people see us together? You’re the enemy, Crowley.

-The enemy? – Crowley repeated. – S-s-seriously? – He stopped mid-sentence, stifling a hiss.

“Enemy”. That word hurt. A lot.

Aziraphale didn’t reply. He stepped aside from the road, letting the people walk past. Crowley did the same. He was about to launch into an exasperated tirade about consistency and mixed signals, when Aziraphale looked him in the eyes at last, and one moment was enough to realize. All that anguish and sadness in his eyes… Aziraphale was angry, sure. But he wasn’t angry at him. All the frustration and pent-up energy were gone from Crowley in an instant.

-What did they tell you to do? – He asked, gingerly.

-Keep their faith strong. – Aziraphale answered, his voice weak, almost a whisper. – The Crusaders. Keep them on the right path.

Crowley didn’t need an additional caveat to know that neither of them considered that path, in any shape or form, _right_.

He didn’t know how to act. He wanted to put a hand on the angel’s shoulder, hug him, pull him close and comfort him the best he could. But he knew that would be too much, too soon. So instead he nodded, a saddened, serious expression on his face, and sighed. It meant “that’s terrible, Aziraphale”. It meant “I’m very sorry, Aziraphale”. It meant “I understand you”. And he hoped that they spoke the same language.

-A bit ironic, if you ask me. – Aziraphale broke the silence after a few minutes. – I’m a principality. I’m supposed to be their protector. – He waved his hands around, indicating the entire city. – Instead, I’m encouraging their imminent slaughter.

Crowley definitely could sense the irony. He paused, thinking. If Aziraphale was a human, this would be a perfect teaching moment for breaking the very foundation of their faith. He has done it countless times since the first century – whispering in the ears of religious devotees, encouraging their doubt, asking them to evaluate the claims of their prophets critically. “Would an all-loving, all-powerful God allow such suffering?” was a phrase he repeated again and again, and it was always true. He could do it so easily… but he didn’t. Didn’t even consider it. Instead, Crowley couldn’t help but repeat one of the most disgusting and ridiculous apologetics he had ever heard, all with an encouraging smile and employing a soft, friendly tone:

-Surely, - Crowley said, not quite believing he was saying it, - it must be a good thing in the long run. It must be sparing them some greater evil. Can’t fry some eggs without breaking the shell first, eh? – He added with a meek chuckle.

-You can, actually.

-Huh?

-You can cook eggs without breaking the shell. – Aziraphale responded. – You can boil them, or bake them in the coals of a fire with the shell still intact.

-But you’d have to break the shell eventually to eat them, right? – Crowley insisted.

-You can drink it raw straight from the shell by poking a small hall in it. – Aziraphale disagreed. – I’ve also seen a local boy literally blow it out of the shell, and…

-That wasn’t my point, angel! – Crowley interrupted him, almost losing his temper again.

-No. – Aziraphale nodded. – It was _my_ point.

They both paused, looking past each other in silence. It was not the best moment, for either of them.

-Forget about it. – Crowley said.

-Pardon?

-What I said. – He shrugged. – Forget about it. You’ve done your part for today, yes?

-I suppose…

-Come on then. – Crowley gestured towards the next turn and began to walk towards it. Aziraphale followed, more by reflex than conscious choice. – Tell me more about your life.

He saw the hesitation on Aziraphale’s face, the conflicted, torturous spark in his eyes… then the angel flashed him a brief smile and stepped forward.

-Very well. – He told him. – Where was I?

-Europe.

-Ah, indeed. Europe.

They spent the rest of the day together – talking, laughing, bickering about nonsense, and trying very hard to forget why they were there in the first place. And when they parted ways under the stars, for the first time in four millennia, Crowley didn’t leave with the thought that it will be decades till they see each other again. This time, he thought, it won’t even be days.

*

Crowley spent the next 72 hours in the midst of the Crusaders, trying his best to lure them away from their holy quest. “A freelance job”, he told himself. “Just for hell, this one on me”. He had never worked this hard for a mission in his entire life. Day and night, talking to each man in turn, tempting them with all known desires, promising them the kingdoms of hell. It was a bloody good effort, but he had no illusions of succeeding. “The damn bastard is a genius”, Crowley thought. It was hard enough to persuade these poor suckers not to rape and steal and be an asshole in general, yet here they were - decent, brave, compassionate men, prepared to lose themselves in unimaginable cruelty for the sake of “better good”. It was worth a try though.

While Crowley worked away from the city, Aziraphale stayed in its midst, desperate for it all to end already so that he could leave and not look back. He knew what Crowley was up to, and did a very poor job of pretending to object. The two of them worked against each other, nominally, but both wanted the very same thing. They met in the middle, an hour and a half away from Jerusalem. Talked over wine. Put up a façade of malice.

-You will not triumph in your evil deeds. – Aziraphale would say to Crowley, who snickered, covering his face with his hand.

It was fun, playing rivalries. They were doing it for their respective head offices, sure… but they were also doing it for each other. Both knew where their heart lay in this quest. Both also knew that Crowley would not, indeed, triumph.

All in all, he did better than he expected. Two men laid down their swords and deserted just before the party entered Jerusalem. Crowley walked away on them thanking their heavenly guardians. He spat on the ground as they began to chant their prayer.

The angel and the demon stayed together on the outskirts of the city while the massacre raged on the streets. Crowley had no words left to be said. He sat next to Aziraphale, who listened to the screams, giving the present moment his full attention. Crowley caught a glimpse of tears in Aziraphale’s eyes, but not one dropped down his cheek. He wanted out. Wanted to take the angel far, far away from this madness. Idiotic, meaningless slaughter…

Instead, he stayed by Aziraphale’s side, suffering through the day next to him. He could find some solace in the fact that, once again, they seemed to have forgotten they were supposed to be on opposite sides. And when Aziraphale reached out to him, Crowley didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around him, as if trying to shield him from the entire universe. A peculiar sight that must have been… an angel and a demon embracing, while good and evil battled and merged together around them, dealt of its own accord, by all too human hands.

*

The day ran to its natural conclusion in silence. The sun set on a city crushed, devastated, stripped to its bones and left bare and broken. Homes on fire, streets running with blood. Aziraphale watched the smoke rise into the sky and disappear into its cloudy veil. The air was getting cold. The ground underneath him was losing heat too. Now, in the thick darkness and far from another living soul, it was starting to dawn on him just how alone he was.

-I’ve found some wine.

Aziraphale flinched at the sound of Crowley’s voice. He shuffled sideways, giving him space to sit down.

-It tastes like sour grape juice. – Crowley informed, taking a sip himself. – Which is exactly what it is, I guess.

Aziraphale nodded, downing half a jug in one ago.

-It’s not what they drink it for anyway. – Crowley continued. – Not for the taste. A genius invention, really. Gotta hand it to them for creative abilities. – He smiled. - First, they come up with a whole bunch of things to make themselves miserable, then they come up with a way to forget about them.

Aziraphale didn’t smile back. Didn’t say anything. Didn’t even glance in his direction. If he did, he would notice that the sunglasses were gone from Crowley’s face, that his cheeks were pale, and his hands trembled slightly, clutching the jug.

-Tell you what, though. – Crowley’s voice, on the other hand, still preserved a carefully calibrated pretense of poise. – At least the setting’s familiar. Kind of reminds me, - he began, realizing half-way that the joke was in poor taste, but unable to stop himself, - of home… - And by the end of the sentence, all that can be heard was a whisper.

There was no reaction on Aziraphale’s side. “Stupid”, Crowley thought, running his nails into the cold ground. “Stupid stupid stupid”.

-It’s all your fault. – Aziraphale seemed barely aware of the words that came out of his mouth next, or the crack in his voice.

-M-my..? – Crowley muttered, frowning.

-None of this would have ever happened if you didn’t tempt them into leaving the garden! – He was shouting now, unable to hold back. – All of this. – He gestured broadly around him. – Five thousand years of deaths, illness, suffering, war, and misery. All because they wouldn’t obey. All because you told Eve to eat the apple!

Crowley took it for a while before finally snapping.

-At least some of us did our jobs well. – He said, staring up at the clouded sky. – Fat lot of good you were, principality, guardian of the eastern gate. Apple tree duty. – He scoffed. – But you certainly improved since then. A job well done! Gabriel will be proud.

He regretted it even before he finished saying it. Crowley swallowed hard. His mouth felt as dry as the sand beneath his feet. He wanted the angel to shout back at him, or even slap him in the face – do something so that he could apologize and be forgiven. Instead, Aziraphale laughed.

He laughed for quite some time, while Crowley just sat there, mouth slightly open, completely at a loss as to how one should react to such an outburst of emotion.

-You’re right. – Aziraphale nodded enthusiastically, turning sideways and looking Crowley in the eyes. – They will be very pleased. I’ve done _exactly_ what they told me to do, down to a T. Worker of the month. – He then flashed Crowley a fake grin, which radiated grief, and anguish, and something beyond Crowley’s understanding.

-I’m so sorry. – Crowley forced out, arms pressed close to his body, feeling very small. – I didn’t mean it like that.

Aziraphale’s face softened.

-Of course, you didn’t, dear boy. – He said, all the fire and rage gone from his voice. – This is not your battle at all. Goodness knows why you are here in the first place.

Crowley would surely explain why, but Aziraphale didn’t give him enough time.

-Two years ago, - the angel began, looking away and lowering his head, - I was with the Crusaders near Edessa, delivering them a message from above. It was a much smaller town, almost a village. Sheep. They had a lot of sheep there. Made clothes from wool, and blankets, so on. – He paused, taking a deep breath. – They used to, anyway. The warriors of faith rather put an end to that.

Crowley wasn’t sure where that story was going, but he nodded patiently.

-I was leaving. – Aziraphale continued. – In a hurry, understandably. I was moving through this narrow gap in between two houses, and caught a glimpse of something in the corner of my eyes. So I stopped. – He took a deep breath again. – And there was a man, of the warriors. He found a, a young boy. Caught him by the shoulder.

Aziraphale’s head went even further down. The darkness felt low, oppressive. It seemed like the air was devoid of all sound, except for his words and Crowley’s steady breathing.

-He could see me. – Aziraphale said. – He looked me in the eyes. The boy was, I don’t know… fourteen? Fifteen? I am not so good at telling their ages. The man, he put a sword to this boy’s neck, and listened to him cry and beg for mercy in his own language. I knew that man. I have given him my blessings an hour ago. I could have, I don’t know, miracle the sword out of his hand, or simply intervene. – He shook his head. – But I stood there, and watched him, and he knew I was watching him. He took off his cross. Put it over the boy’s head. Whispered something over him. And slit his throat.

-Humans are monsters. – Crowley spat out.

-Oh no. – Aziraphale laughed, shaking his head again. – No. He wasn’t doing it out of cruelty, or vengeance. There was no anger in his face. He did it out of kindness. He knew those kids would never change their faith, but if they were to face the Almighty now, well… - He paused. – They were prepared to face God’s judgment in their own time, on their own terms. And they believed that children wouldn’t be judged harshly.

-Did they…? – Crowley spoke up, and Aziraphale shrugged.

-Don’t know. We don’t receive reports on who is allowed into heaven.

Crowley anticipated his next question.

-Are there… - Aziraphale started, but couldn’t find the strength to finish the sentence.

-Are there children in hell? – Crowley finished for him, and Aziraphale gave him a single nod. – I haven’t seen any. – He lied. – Personally.

-A small consolation. – The angel replied. – Thank you.

Something told Crowley that, perhaps, he was not a very good liar.

They sat together in silence for a while, and watched the smoke and clouds dissipate to reveal a stunning starry sky. It was almost insulting, the beauty of it. The bright, captivating sparkle of ten thousand stars, shining down on a tragedy that raged below. Crowley shivered, wishing he had brought some actual warmer clothes to shield himself from the cold, and not just fancy projections. He tried to come up with something to say, but he feared that no words out of a demon’s mouth would make it any easier for the angel.

He was about to get up and disappear into the darkness, when he was struck with a most horrible idea. This was, Crowley realized, a perfect opportunity for a temptation. He wanted it, too. Wanted so badly to free Aziraphale from this pseudo-righteous nonsense once and for all. If the angel was to fall, they wouldn’t be enemies anymore. They would be on the same side. It wouldn’t be the best life, of course, but they’d be _together_ in this!

He was half-way to conceiving a suitable speech, then stopped. A twinge of pain that started at the basis of his neck and spread down his spine and through his entire back reminded him of what it was actually like to fall. Reminded him of the agony, and the shame, and the grief over the loss of your previous life. The smell of boiling sulfur and burnt feathers. The stark realization: it is done. There is no going back. He couldn’t possibly do all that to Aziraphale! No, this was not a solution. All it would do is replace one authority with another, and the angel is too loyal. Too proper. What would actually help is undermine his faith in authority altogether – one act of kindness at a time.

So on that night, he gave Aziraphale something that heaven didn’t have, and could never have. Support. Understanding. Some friendly company, and reassurance, and love.

-It wasn’t your fault. – Crowley said, putting his palm down on the cold sand next to Aziraphale. – You’re not like them. You’re so much better than them. And it wasn’t your fault.

He wasn’t sure Aziraphale believed him… but at least he put his hand next to his. So close that the angel’s pinky touched the side of his palm.

-Why are you saying all this? – Aziraphale asked, the stars reflecting in his eyes.

“Because I love you”, Crowley wanted to say.

He knew perfectly well that Aziraphale didn’t love him back, but he wanted him so badly to know. To know that he was, above all, loved. At least by someone.

-Because some of us are still too good to fall. – Crowley replied instead, and smiled, hoping that the warmth of that smile would communicate something his words couldn’t. – We could be friends, you know.

-Friends?

-Yeah. We could, - Crowley continued, his heart racing in his chest, - just see each other for no reason. Without any arrangement. Talk, and listen, and be around each other. Like… friends.

In response, Aziraphale stared at him, shocked, as if Crowley had just suggested something absolutely preposterous, like running away with him to another solar system.

-I will think about it. – He said, and Crowley nodded. – Thank you. – He added. – For being here with me.

Crowley found himself too stunned to reply. He watched, silent and breathless, as Aziraphale got up and walked into the dull light of the city. He realized too late that another opportunity was now gone.

He wouldn’t see the angel again for almost another century.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on tumblr for more Good Omens content (and other things): bootstrapparadoxed.tumblr.com  
And if you like this story, please consider leaving kudos, writing a comment, and/or sharing it on your social media of choice!
> 
> This story has already been finished and edited. The next chapter will be posted soon.


	3. 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Crowley fails to carry out the heavenly part of his assignment (during his turn on the Arrangement), Aziraphale comes to aid and joins the demon in a tiny English village devastated by the Civil War.

[4] **England, 1643**

Grey, misty sorrow enveloped the sleepy village of Beacon Hill. The air was saturated with fog and dust, and the thick smell of the soggy ground lingered above the yellowing grass. The sun was nowhere to be seen. The rain that has been falling, on and off, for the last three days, has resumed its duty after a brief respite. Swallows and redstarts were gone, and with them went the last hope of another moment of warmth before the winter. Rather appropriate weather for a place that has just lost half of its young men in battle.

Crowley didn’t like it here. Didn’t like it at all. England was pretty low on his ‘favorite places’ list to begin with, and October was not doing it any favors. He reached for the top button of his coat with the intention of buttoning it and promptly realized that he had done so a mere five minutes ago. Ridiculous. He wished for a warm house, a blanket over his shoulders and a steaming mug of coffee in his hands. He didn’t want to be here. Hell, he could leave right now!

He could, but he wouldn’t. Instead, he sighed, raised the collar of his coat, and scanned the horizon for any signs of the angel.

He must have zoned out for a while, since Aziraphale’s voice made him flinch.

-Good morning, Crowley. – He greeted the demon, blinking rain from his eyes.

-Are you quite sure it is good? – Crowley smirked. – I’d say, as far as mornings go, it is quite high on the scale of shitty.

-It’s nice to see you too. – The angel seemed unwilling to go along with that particular rant. – I gather you have not had a pleasant trip.

-You could certainly say that, yeah. – Crowley, meanwhile, was now committed to his act. – Is it possible to have a pleasant trip in this bloody weather?

Aziraphale has since moved out towards the village, and Crowley followed.

-Who were the first people to settle here? – The demon continued. – And why did they think settling here was a good idea? I mean, it’s not even like the summers are nice. You get maybe a week of sunlight, but as soon as it gets hot, you immediately want to die. Fascinating! – He exclaimed, stepping into a murky puddle for emphasis. – It is absolutely horrible all year long!

-Well, - Aziraphale interrupted what would soon evolve into a full-blown standup routine, - at least you didn’t have to abandon a wonderful meeting at the poetry society in order to help _someone_ fix their mistake. – He concluded. – For the sake of politeness, I shall not name that someone.

-Right. – Crowley muttered, feeling his cheeks burn as his feet slurped in the mud. – How was your trip then?

-Lovely! – Aziraphale smiled. – I was transported here by a lovely boy named Charles…

As they walked across the dreary field towards the village, the rain seized, and a gap in the dense veil of clouds revealed a hint of sunlight. When they were about to pass through the gates, Aziraphale stopped and lowered himself to the ground. Crowley glanced sideways and rolled his eyes. When the angel rose up, between his thumb and index finger was a tiny purple flower.

-You were the one who suggested they settle on the island. – Aziraphale said, stepping through the gate.

-Of course I did…

-And if you ask me, it wasn’t such a terrible idea either. – Aziraphale added. – I for one am quite fond of this place. It has a cozy feeling to it, Britain. A special sort of charm. Perhaps I would even settle here myself. One day.

And, as soon as Crowley was walking next to him once again, he reached his hand towards the demon and handed him the wild aster. Crowley didn’t even think before taking it. Their hands met and lingered for a while, bare skin against bare skin. Long enough for Crowley to feel the warmth of Aziraphale’s palm in contrast to his own cold fingertips, and sense a drop of rain on Aziraphale’s wrist. He made sure the angel couldn’t see him before putting the flower behind his ear and gently stroking his fingertips over his other hand, where their fingers met just a moment ago. He had to memorize such moments. Cherish them. He got maybe one or two brief touches every other century or so.

-Is this the one? – Crowley’s hand went to his mouth for the fifth time that minute, and he cursed quietly under his breath before putting it away. He hardly had any nails to bite on anymore.

-No. – Aziraphale proclaimed. – And not that one either. Come on.

Crowley flinched when a drop of rain fell on his cheek. He wiped it off and rubbed his eyes, pushing against the closed eyelids. Aziraphale had already taken off, so he had to move too. He followed the angel through an abandoned backyard, behind some shed and through a small grove of wilting nettle before emerging into an open space in front of another house. Then the routine was reprised.

Aziraphale stood a few meters to the left of the door, his hand on the wooden wall, eyes closed, taking deep breaths. Meanwhile, Crowley circled the building, again and again, unnoticed by others. He tried not to look through the window, but he couldn’t stop himself. Every house was the same, or almost the same. Either people leaving and approaching a bed, doing their best to tend to some poor bloke’s injuries, or a broken family with the mother sobbing next to her daughter or sister or elderly husband, lamenting their loss.

-Not this one. – Aziraphale said. – How many such households are there in this village? – He asked, leading the way to the nearby road.

-Plenty. – Crowley responded.

He has moved on from biting his nails to twirling a button on his coat, and he feared the little thing would not last long. The demon has completely given up on trying to hide his anxiety. It was unusual, sure. Crowley wasn’t used to showing his weakness to anyone – not even Aziraphale. Vulnerability had too high of a price. Today, however, he simply couldn’t help it. His only hope rested on Aziraphale being utterly oblivious to his condition, and so far, at least the angel has not asked him any questions.

-Not this one either. – Aziraphale brushed his hand over the entrance of a particularly shabby-looking house and shook his head. – But the suffering here, I say… even compared to the background.

-Are you sure? – Crowley’s forehead was pressed to the dirty glass of a window. – He seems to fit your description. Fair hair, big eyes, ridiculous mustache. And I think his mother has just called him James.

-Well then, - Aziraphale tutted, - that’s how I know it’s definitely not the right one. _John_, Crowley. He should be named John, not James.

-Ah. – The demon stopped mid-step, the realization of his mistake deepening. – Shit.

-Quite. – He nodded, on the move once again. – You should have listened more carefully, I guess.

-I’ve healed the wrong person. – Crowley muttered, following his steps. – Me! Healing strangers for no bloody reason. Pathetic!

-It was an honest mistake, my dear.

-And I didn’t heal the right one!

-Not such a big error anyway, and we shall fix it.

-I thought he should be named James!

-Now, now, - Aziraphale has reached a new building, - there is absolutely no need to torture yourself like that.

-Yes, there is! – Crowley insisted, waving his arms around. – Why aren’t you mad at me, angel? I massively fucked this up.

-The blame is not all yours. – He traced his palm over the wall, eyes closed, breathing in slowly. – Clearly, I have made mistakes of my own, like failing to account for possible complications of our arrangement. – He opened his eyes and made a single step back. - This being an excellent example. Not this one. – He added, before setting off. – It didn’t occur to me that you wouldn’t be able to sense the young man. No wonder you couldn’t find him! I should have taken this one. Both of them. You know what I mean.

-Yeah. – Crowley nodded, still rather shocked to be getting a very light treatment. – Maybe.

-But that’s how we learn from our mistakes. – Aziraphale smiled. – The arrangement is new. There are some technicalities to work out, still – like taking our abilities and limitations into consideration. Now please, stop beating yourself up, and stop worrying about it too. – He said, with the authoritative insistence of a strict mother. - You’ll give yourself a stomach ulcer.

Crowley didn’t dare look at Aziraphale. Didn’t even dare to look in his general direction. He reached for his ear to take out the aster flower and sighed, barely audibly, when he discovered it was no longer there. His left hand grabbed the fingers of his right hand and squeezed till the skin turned white. The angel’s lack of agitation was certainly appreciated, but it didn’t soothe his anxiety either. And Aziraphale only knew the half of it.

He didn’t know about Hastur turning up unannounced (and uninvited) at his current residence down at Paris – “to talk business” no less. That business being Crowley’s amazing reports and impressive track record – but also rumors, and suspicious sightings, and Hastur being “concerned for his colleague”. Aziraphale also didn’t know about Beelzebub asking Crowley to come to their office, and having a long, confusing conversation about loyalty, honor, and flesh-eating fire ants.

Hell didn’t have facts. Didn’t even have anything resembling facts. What they did have was a bad feeling, and a few words pronounced in hushed voices – but it could have been enough. Crowley needed to be careful, much more careful. He had to be better, and make sure, above all, to protect Aziraphale from any possible consequences of their actions. He still had no intentions of sharing the information though. One word of caution, and the angel would chicken out of their deal. And Crowley had worked too hard for centuries to talk him into it in the first place.

No, Crowley would work it out on his own. And the first step to that was not messing up his tasks. Perhaps dialing up the guilt and anxiety to eleven would help him do that in the future. It served him well – to focus on the feelings, immerse himself in it… the angel, however, was dead set on comforting him instead.

-Not this one, I’m afraid. – Aziraphale murmured, shaking his head. – But close. Very close. See, Crowley? This is difficult even for me.

-Uh-hu. – He agreed, and stepped out of a puddle. – Moving on.

-What was the other part, by the way? – Aziraphale inquired. – As in, what would I be doing here if it had been heads and not tails?

-Persuading a platoon of soldiers to turn away and run for their lives instead of fighting. – Crowley informed him. – About twenty kilometers from here, yesterday.

-I see. – Aziraphale nodded. – And how did you do it then? Scare them half to death with visions of hell? Undermine their alliance to their country?

-Showing them their enemy. – He said. – In their minds. Showing them that the soldiers at the other side of the battlefield had mothers and father and siblings and wives. Allowing them to see that they were all the same. All human.

-Oh. – The angel paused on the road and gifted Crowley a look full of affection and admiration. – That was rather sweet of you.

-Oh shut it! – Crowley muttered. – It’s effective. Trial and error, my job. I know what works, ‘s all.

-Still. – Aziraphale insisted. – Filling someone with sudden unexplainable panic does the trick as well.

-I suppose it does.

-So you could have done that instead.

-I suppose I could have. – Crowley sniffed. – Excellent. Now I’m getting a cold. – He said, fully aware he could not get a cold.

The remark did nonetheless succeed as the means of changing the topic of conversation.

-Not this one. – Aziraphale announced, glancing around in search for the next target. – Tell me, dear, have we checked those homes already?

-Hard to tell. – Crowley shrugged. – They all look the same to me. We should have marked them or something.

-Well, I hate to say it, - Aziraphale sighed, looking terribly sorry, - but it is quite possible that you have picked the wrong village.

Crowley nodded solemnly, and kicked a patch of soppy grass.

-Is there, perhaps, - Aziraphale said, - another village in this general area? Someplace else they could have brought him to.

-The next one is about thirty miles to the south. – Crowley responded. – That will be, what, four, five hours in a carriage?

-It’s not as if we have a choice, Crowley. – The angel reminded him. – The task must be fulfilled.

-Go ask for the carriage then. – The demon concluded. – Oh, splendid. The rain is starting again.

He turned away just in time _not_ to see Aziraphale rolling his eyes, regarding him as an irritating child.

The first half an hour of their trip was spent in heavy, awkward silence that Crowley incurred on himself. Every time Aziraphale would attempt a conversation, the demon would turn away, watching the road, and mumble something incomprehensible. Eventually, Aziraphale gave up. Evidently, he had gotten the hint and left Crowley to focus on his mental monologue. For a while, at least.

-Your button has come off. – Aziraphale pointed out.

-Eh?

-The button. – He leaned forward and picked it off the floor of the carriage. – Here. – He then put it on the seat next to Crowley.

-Thanks. – Crowley muttered, and returned the button to its place. It immediately reattached itself.

-Love that coat, by the way. – Aziraphale added. – Fits wonderfully on you.

-Leave it be, angel. – He turned away and pushed his shades up his nose. – Can’t you see that I’m sulking?

-What, you’re still not over that whole wrong person snafu? – He shook his head. – Please. Don’t you ever make mistakes?

-Can’t afford to. – Crowley blurted out.

Aziraphale frowned. He didn’t quite understand him, but it concerned him nonetheless.

-You can talk to me about anything, you know.

-Can I? – Crowley smiled.

-Yes. – But Aziraphale was deadly serious. – Yes, you can.

-Thanks for letting me know.

He was about to turn sideways once again when Aziraphale moved across the carriage and sat next to him.

-So. – He said, leaning back in his seat. – What is it like in Paris these days?

Crowley closed his eyes for a split second. He realized just how close he was to the angel and held his breath before turning in his direction. What was he playing at? It certainly was suspicious, but, on the other hand, they did have a long trip still ahead of them, and he wasn’t _that_ committed to sulking…

-Where do I begin? – Crowley said, and a side of his mouth went up in a coy smile.

Four hours later, and Aziraphale was doubling over, his shoulders twitching with laughter, while Crowley observed him with a wide grin on his face.

-You did not! – Aziraphale managed to exclaim in between gasps for breaths.

-I swear to Satan I did! – Crowley insisted. – I told him to fuck off!

-In French?

-Yes, angel, I said it in French. I was in France!

-But you knew who he was, surely. – Aziraphale said, rubbing the aching muscles of his stomach. – Or, at the very least, it must have dawned on you later.

-Oh it did. – Crowley confirmed. – About two days later, when I was trying to fall asleep.

-Goodness. – Aziraphale chuckled. – Sorry, I’m laughing at your misfortune now.

-It’s fine. – The demon shrugged, still smiling. – I deserve it. Telling the prince of France to fuck off while at his own castle is spectacularly stupid.

-Indeed.

-But it turned out okay.

-Glad to hear that.

-Yeah.

Silence filled the air. They turned towards each other, accidentally, and their eyes met, accidentally, and both were quite aware that the pause required some sort of remark, and both had no idea of what that remark could be. They weren’t here on business, Crowley thought. Aziraphale didn’t come here all the way from London to fix his mistake. He came because he wanted to spend time with him.

-Halt!

There was a crack of a whip on the ground and the wheels scratched against the road as the carriage stopped.

-We’re here, gentlemen. – The coachman leaned into the carriage and extended his hand.

Aziraphale coughed and fished in his pocket for money. The man gave him a second glance when he counted the coins and discovered that he was paid almost twice the sum they agreed upon, but didn’t argue.

-That was faster than I anticipated. – The angel said, getting off the carriage. – You think?

-Uh-hu. – Crowley confirmed.

He felt like that after each and every interaction they had. For him, nothing short of forever would be enough.

-We have ah, a, a thing to do. – Crowley reminded, kicking the ground with his boot.

-Indeed. – Aziraphale agreed. – Let’s get going then.

This time, it took them less than fifteen minutes to arrive at their destination. Aziraphale stopped dead in his tracks a good twenty meters away from the house, a surprised, almost overwhelmed expression on his face.

-That’s the one. – He breathed out, pointing at a tiny hut that rested on top of a hill. – I can feel it.

-Feel what, exactly? – Crowley frowned, skeptical.

-That boy. – Aziraphale explained. – His soul. The pureness of his heart.

-Of course. – The demon smirked, only half-convinced. -Well, shall I?

-Oh, I hardly think that is necessary. -Aziraphale responded. – I am here after all.

-It was _my_ job. – Crowley pointed out. – I should be the one to do it. For the sake of consistency, if nothing else.

-I suppose, if you insist. Frankly, I didn’t even know you could heal people. – The angel gave out a short laugh.

-I can do everything you can, - Crowley retorted, - but better.

-Are you quite sure about that, dear boy? – Aziraphale raised an eyebrow at Crowley, and a slight shade of pink touched the demon’s pale cheeks. – Are you absolutely certain?

-I’m gonna heal the kid. – Crowley mumbled, already climbing up the hill. – Wait for me there.

The implications of Aziraphale being able to feel the pureness of someone’s heart hit him halfway up the climb. He acknowledged the thought, then stuffed it deep, deep into his subconscious mind.

Crowley entered the house without knocking and went straight for the only room that had a bed in it. There, wrapped in a dirty, crumpled blanket, was a young man of eighteen, maybe nineteen years. His fair hair was stuck to his damp forehead, his big eyes were closed, and his name definitely had to be John.

-Hello. – Crowley said – quietly, almost whispering – and lowered himself to his knees in front of the bed. – How are you feeling?

-A few hours away from the gates of heaven. – The man joked, and Crowley couldn’t help but smile.

-What did your previous physician say? – Crowley reached for the man’s wrist and took his pulse. It was rapid, yet weak.

-That my fever is very stubborn. – He responded, and removed the blanket to reveal a dark-red stain on his side, where blood had soaked through both the bandage and his shirt. – It doesn’t hurt anymore. Is that good?

-Yes. – Crowley told him.

In fact, it wasn’t good at all – but it didn’t matter, since Crowley was there. He brushed his palm across the stain, moved his hand back and forth a few times, eyes closed, concentrated. He then checked the wound briefly. It wasn’t healed completely, no – that would be too revealing – but it would heal.

-And your fever. – Next, Crowley put his palm on the man’s burning forehead. – It’s diminishing now. Not so stubborn after all.

The man inhaled sharply, being able to breathe in to his full lung capacity all of a sudden. The stabbing pain in his side, which would appear every time he tried to take a deep breath, was gone.

-Will I be okay? – He asked, looking Crowley in the eyes.

-You will. – He assured him, avoiding the gaze. – Now sleep.

A minute later the man was sleeping peacefully, covered by his blanket.

Crowley was hoping to slip out without notice, but was ambushed by the man’s mother as he was approaching the entrance.

-Excuse me, sir. – The woman wasn’t very old, but her head was full of grey already. – Are you John’s new doctor?

-He won’t be needing a doctor. – Crowley told her. – The boy will recover. – He walked all the way to the door before adding: - A close encounter with death, he had. But he will recover. – He repeated. - It’s almost like he was blessed by heavens.

He left before he could hear the quiet sob of relief.

Outside, Aziraphale was shifting his weight from one foot to the other, waiting for the demon to appear.

-So fast? – He asked, seemingly impressed. – Tell me he was still alive.

-Barely. – Crowley told him. – It’s high time someone told humans they should wash their hands before treating open wounds. It is done. – He said. – We can leave.

-Splendid. – Aziraphale smiled. – Now, since we’re already here… what would you say to some food and drinks?

-Oh… - Crowley began, feeling the last threads of his annoyance melt away, - why the hell not?

*

-Not bad. – Aziraphale proclaimed, soaking up the last drops of the sauce with a piece of bread. – Not bad at all.

Crowley, whose plate was taken away a while ago, nodded in agreement. The dish was very simple, but it was hot, and fresh, and made with great care. And now that the rain was pouring again outside, the bleak and scruffy tavern gained a cozy, hospitable atmosphere.

-They thought we were rich. – Crowley said, taking a sip of ale. – Made it special for us, I reckon. The stuff you usually get at small taverns comes from a huge pot which is never cleaned and never really empty. They just keep chugging stuff in and taking some out.

-If they think we’re rich, - Aziraphale replied, - I will give them extra for the food.

-You already over-tipped for the carriage.

-The man deserved it. – He explained. – I felt his sorrow, and his worry. He most certainly could do with extra income.

-Uh-hu. – Crowley smiled. – Got it. So… you can feel the pureness of someone’s heart, and sense them worrying. – He began with a cool attitude which was rapidly collapsing under the weight of realization. – Anything else you can detect?

It was a joke. He said it as a joke. He hoped, oh, he prayed that Aziraphale had taken it as a joke. He smirked and leaned back, all confidence and charm, crossing his fingers under the table. Waiting. Feeling cold sweat form on the back of his head. Thinking “shit, shit, _shit_… does he already know?”.

-Humans are rather simple, really. – Aziraphale smiled back. – Their souls are easy to read.

-What about non-humans? – Crowley prompted.

-That is a whole another story.

-It would be nice to just, - Crowley chuckled, - I don’t know, be able to tell whether Beelzebub is normal-level angry at me or extra angry, just by taking a peek at their aura or something.

-I’m afraid it’s not as simple. – Aziraphale replied. – Us, supernatural beings, we have to rely on words.

Words. Words were all Crowley needed, really. There, sitting opposite Aziraphale, so close to him, he could say so many things. He couldn’t help it. The phrases bubbled in his mind, rushed to his lips, eager to be expressed. “I love you”, he wanted to say. “I love you, and I have always loved you, and I will always love you”. He could say it. Right now. Because the opportunity was there. Because he wanted to, more than anything. Because, from the way the angel was looking at him, he saw there was at least a fraction of a possibility that the feeling might be mutual. Because with every year it was getting harder not to say it.

“I love you”, Crowley wanted to say. But he wasn’t brave enough. Not that day. It would have to wait.

-Yeah. – He said, forcing a smirk. – Unfortunately, we do.

Soon, they were standing outside the tavern, about to say their goodbyes and go their separate ways. The sun was setting already, and the darkness threatened to swallow the village whole. Crowley could almost feel the dense air clumping into fog. There they stood, alone in the twilight. Both hesitated, unsure of what to say, unwilling to be the one to walk away first.

-Can I… - Crowley began, surprising even himself, - can we see each other? Not for the arrangement, just – just see each other.

-We can. – Aziraphale responded, and gave Crowley a smile so warm, so full of a thousand unspoken words, that it confused Crowley completely.

The next time they met, there was no job, no mistakes, and no reasons – but there was dinner, and laughter, and the beautiful, cold shine of Paris at night.


	4. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale is stuck in prison *again*... Crowley comes to the rescue, of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the late update. The next one will be early though (Wednesday, as usual).

**[3] Moscow, 1825**

Crowley was walking through a sea of white.

A pleasant surprise, he thought, stepping aside from the road to make way for a pair of men on horses. In this place, this time of year, sunlight was a rare treat. The days were brief, with the mornings starting out in cold darkness, and the sky was often wrapped in snow clouds, blocking the sun completely and leaving the city below in a sort of a grey mist. But not always. Once in a blue moon, the clouds would part, and the sun would shine, reflecting off snow and filling the air with a bright glow. Then everything seemed magical all of a sudden, and the frost biting your nose was a reasonable price to pay.

It would be a perfect opportunity to walk around Moscow and admire the architecture, but Crowley didn’t have time for such things. The week-old snow crunched under his feet as he walked the broad streets. He checked his watch and sped up. If he wanted to be at the prison gates as soon as they opened, he would have to pick up the pace.

-Newspaper! Fresh newspaper!

Out of the corner of his eyes, Crowley saw a young boy wearing an enormous fur hat approaching him with a tall stack of newspapers in his grasp.

-Moskovskiye Vedomosti, sudar'. - The boy beamed, and picked up one paper from the top of the stack. - You don’t want to miss this one.

-I’m all caught up, thanks. - Crowley mumbled, fully aware that his Russian pronunciation was not as sharp as it once had been.

-Are you sure, sudar'? - The boy inquired. - It has some exclusive material.

-Very well. - He reached into the pocket of his heavy jacket and pulled out a coin. - Catch.

The boy caught the coin in midair, pocketed it, and stuffed a rolled-up paper into Crowley’s grasp. A second later he was already annoying another person. Crowley couldn’t help but smile. He flipped through the pages while he walked and raised an eyebrow at one of the headlines.

“Four men arrested on a charge of treason and conspiring against the crown”.

-He even managed to land himself in a newspaper. - Crowley muttered under his breath. - Outstanding.

When the guard at the prison gates noticed Crowley approaching, he lowered his weapon and saluted him. Crowley wanted to salute back, but changed his mind at the last second. As a result, the salute turned into a rather clumsy wave.

-Gospodin Crowley. - The man greeted. - Pyotr told me you will visit us today, but he didn’t say why.

-Nothing serious. - He assured the guard, having noticed a worried twinge in his eyes. - One man, uh, an acquaintance of mine, was arrested yesterday, and I have quite sufficient reason to believe that such measures weren’t justified. I’m sure it was an honest mistake, - he continued with a pleasant smile, - but I came to vouch for him nonetheless.

-We did arrest four conspirators yesterday. - The guard nodded. - And now that you mention it, Gospodin Crowley, one of them is, uh, how can I say it… peculiar.

-That will be him. - Crowley confirmed. - Now, take me to see Sukharev. I hope he isn’t more hangover than he usually is.

Forty minutes and one frustrating conversation later, and Crowley was standing in a corridor of Butyrskaya Prison, waiting for one of the guards to bring in the keys. This was not a pleasant place to be in. It stank of rotten cabbage and mold, and the floor slurped with dirty snow which melted into a watery goo. The distant yells of the prisoners arguing over their breakfast was not a good addition either.

When the guard led him through several doors and hunched archways, Crowley consulted his memory for a list of witty phrases, picking out the most suitable. Three years ago, when he and Aziraphale last met, he started out with something along the lines of “ekh”, and he was quite determined not to repeat the same mistake. In the end, he picked a Pushkin quote as his favorite.

-There you go. - The guard announced, and pushed the heavy metal door open.

Inside was a pretty narrow and dark gap which separated the wall from a human-sized cage. It was a rectangular metal box with thick bars lining one of its sides. And, standing there, face pressed into the bars, was Aziraphale - hair ruffled, wearing a stained and creased white coat, staring mindlessly into the distance.

-Stand back! - The guard yelled at the other prisoners when they launched for the bars as well. - Gospodin is not here for you.

Crowley hesitated before stepping over the threshold. He ambled towards the cage, letting the light from the minuscule window above to hit his face and reflect off his sunglasses. He turned towards the cage just in time to see Aziraphale’s face lit up with a mix of joy and relief.

-Crowley. - He said, beaming, and suddenly the demon was forgetting not only that Pushkin line, but all the poetry he had ever memorized. - Thank goodness you’re here!

-Hi. - Crowley managed, having immediately admitted defeat at the mere sight of his angel. - Rough night?

-A most horrendous one! - Aziraphale confessed. - Not only was I arrested on preposterous accusations, but I was also thrown into this establishment, along with actual criminals, no less. - He shook his head, letting Crowley know just how ridiculous this whole situation seemed to him. - Conspiring. Committing treason. As if I would ever do such a thing!

-Well, it’s all fine now. - Crowley assured him. - Guard? - He switched to Russian. - That’s the one. Let him out.

-As you wish, Gospodin Crowley. - The man sighed. - Keep to the wall! - He shouted at the other prisoners, making Aziraphale flinch.

-Savages. - Aziraphale muttered, then escaped the cage as soon as the door was open. - Completely uncivilized. And they’re supposed to be noblemen!

-Come on, angel. Let’s get out of here. - Crowley said. - This place stinks.

The freezing cold outside was a breath of fresh air after the damp warmth of the prison halls. As soon as they were out the gate and out of sight, Aziraphale miracled himself clean and tidy. It was certainly needed, but, Crowley realized with a twinge somewhere at the base of his stomach, he rather missed the ruffled hair.

-Thank you. - Aziraphale said. - I can’t believe I let myself be dragged into that conversation.

-Don’t mention it. - Crowley replied, and began to walk towards one of the broader streets. - Didn’t know you could speak Russian so well as to maintain a discussion with them.

-Oh they were speaking French. - He waved a hand at Crowley, annoyed. - Regardless, I only ever meant to offer my opinion on the whole revolution matter. It’s just, see, I have experience with these things…

-Yeah, I remember…

-…and I simply wished to express my concerns. We started talking, they poured me some wine, and next thing I know, I was being dragged away by the militia!

-Good thing I’ve been in the area. - Crowley said, no smile to be seen on his face.

-Yes, indeed. - Aziraphale replied. - Now I simply must invite you to lunch.

-It’s nine in the morning.

-Breakfast, then. - He corrected himself. - Don’t argue now, dear boy.

-Wouldn’t dream of it. - Crowley muttered, and let Aziraphale lead.

-Pass me that sour cream, would you?

The sound of Aziraphale’s voice awoke Crowley from a distant, daydreamy haze. He mumbled something, his head propped up by his left arm, and used his right to pass on the bowl.

-The strawberry filling is exquisite. - Aziraphale informed him, adding a hefty dollop of sour cream to his plate of blinis. - If I didn’t know what time of year it was, I would think that it’s fresh fruit.

-Sure. - Crowley mixed his tea absent-mindedly. - Glad you like it.

-Are you finished then? - Aziraphale asked.

-Huh?

-Not with the food. Your job, I mean. - He elaborated. - You said it was lucky you were in the area.

-It’s just an expression. - Crowley shrugged. - But yes, I’ve done it already.

-May I inquire..?

-Had to persuade one of those conspirators to rapidly change his mind about killing the new tzar and tip him off on the assassination instead.

-Curious. - Aziraphale’s eyebrows went up. - I’m just wondering… how exactly is preventing a murder a bad thing?

-I’ve significantly reduced their chances of success. - He responded. - Pretty much ensured there will be no revolution after all. People will be arrested. Tried. Sentenced to death, most likely. And, - he paused to sip his now lukewarm tea, - they won’t achieve what they set out to achieve, namely abolishing slavery in this country, among other things.

-I see. - Aziraphale nodded. - Still, seems to be a bit of a grey area, don’t you think?

-I don’t think. -Crowley replied. - Not about the gigs. I do what I am told and there’s that.

-No you don’t. - The angel retorted. - You never do exactly what you’re told! Especially if you don’t agree with it. A rebel among rebels. - He added with a cocky grin. - And a worthy opponent.

-Opponent? - Crowley scoffed. - Is that what I am to you? A rivalry? Not your knight on a white horse, coming to save you like a damsel in distress, huh?

-What seems to be the matter? - Aziraphale frowned, hurt and confused. - Did I do something wrong?

-You are doing everything in your power to consistently get into all sorts of trouble, it seems. - Crowley told him. - What is this, a sudden boost in stupidity or a cry for help?

-Or, perhaps, - Aziraphale said rather sternly, - simply a series of unfortunate accidents. For which I apologize. - He looked away. - I didn’t know I was such a nuisance to you.

-Nuisance? - Crowley repeated, almost offended. - You’re not a nuisance, Aziraphale, you’re my friend! And I am worried about you. You have to be careful, you know. What if you get discorporated? What if they reassign you to some other place and you won’t be on Earth anymore?

-I hardly think that is a likely scenario…

-I can’t lose you, angel. - Crowley whispered, hoping that Aziraphale wouldn’t hear. - You’re behaving strangely is my point. - He said in a louder voice. - If these “unfortunate mistakes” of yours are just false pretense to see me more often, then I don’t get it. You can see me whenever you want! We used to do that all the time, remember? - He added, and his face softened. - Just meet for no reason at all.

Aziraphale sighed, gazing at Crowley from across the table, sadness, melancholy and affection all blended together on his face. Before speaking again, he glanced left and right, making sure that no one was listening in.

-People are… different. - He said quietly. -Some are brave enough to go against the current and fulfill their dreams. Free enough to step over the rules and do as they please. Wise enough to know, truly, where their loyalties reside, and how to balance them. And smart enough not to get themselves into all manner of awkward incidents. - He sighed. - And some are _not_.

-I have found, - Crowley replied, annoyed but forced to take part the metaphor game, - in the past, that you never lacked those qualities.

-Circumstances change, Crowley. - Aziraphale told him. - These humans, you know, they never have stability. Sometimes the world is good for them, and they can afford to be happy, and other times it is completely out of reach.

He glanced sideways again, wincing at the sound of conversation, and Crowley’s heart sped up in his chest. When did the angel develop this fear, and why? Aziraphale had never been particularly enthusiastic about the arrangement, but it wasn’t a matter of life and death either. Decades, hundreds of years they’ve had, perfectly fine with spending time together, even though both knew their respective head offices would not approve. Besides, the arrangement was one thing, but them being friends… surely, the head offices didn’t give a damn about such things. Or did they? The excuses, the anxiety, the baffling metaphors… was it Aziraphale’s turn to have an awkward conversation with Gabriel?

-I think, - Crowley said, continuing to play along, - that if one does their job well, they can expect a holiday or two even in the darkest of times.

-I wish I knew what it meant to do your job well. -Aziraphale chuckled, rather sadly.

-Have you had, uh, any misfortunes lately? Signs of difficult changes?

-Frankly, I’d rather not go looking for signs.

-Okay, - Crowley snapped, - now I am confused. This is getting ridiculous. Can we just talk, normally?

Aziraphale produced an aggravated sigh and surveyed the room. What he saw was, evidently, not encouraging.

-Meet me outside. - He said. - I will pay for the food and see you there.

-You don’t have any money. You’ve been arrested, remember?

-Well then give me money so I can pay for you! - Aziraphale exclaimed, extending his hand. - Thank you. - He muttered once Crowley poured a few ruble coins onto his palm. - Outside. Behind the restaurant.

-Fucking drama queen. - Crowley rolled his eyes as soon as Aziraphale was out of reach. - Why do I even bother?!

Outside, the sun was still shining, though already on its way down the sky, and the snow has started to fall. Crowley caught a few snowflakes on his gloved hand and brought it close to his face to examine them. A bloke in Germany once told him that no two snowflakes are ever alike, and laughed when Crowley asked him how you could ever test such a claim. “Snowflake number two”, he thought, separating them on his palm, “not like snowflake number one”.

-Let’s go. - Aziraphale announced as soon as he appeared in Crowley’s field of vision. - That way.

They walked for quite some time until they ended up far away from busy streets and crowded squares. One could interpret it as romantic; escaping the crowds and seeking solace to be alone with the one you love - but Crowley knew this wasn’t the case. Instead, he felt ashamed, and infuriated. Looking over his shoulder like a criminal, stuck in an ugly corner of a beautiful city, as if he had something to hide. He never wanted their - friendship, companionship, relationship, whatever it was - to turn into this.

Finally, Aziraphale stopped, having backed himself into a wall of a nearby building, and sighed, a guilty look on his face.

-I’m sorry. - He said. - This is silly, I know, but I can’t help it.

Crowley gave him a singular nod, feeling all the anger escape his body.

-What happened? - He asked softly.

-Nothing much. - Aziraphale shrugged. - It was, well, it was _communicated_ to me that there are certain rumors floating around, and I didn’t want to give anyone the satisfaction of catching me red-handed.

-Yeah, I’ve had some, khm, conversations too.

-I’m sure it’s nothing. - Aziraphale laughed nervously. - They can’t confirm it, and I don’t think they even care to investigate. But we can’t ignore them either, right? I mean, we cannot just abandon our sides and do what we please, and never mind the consequences. - He added, smiling at Crowley.

But Crowley would. If Aziraphale were to ask him, he wouldn’t even take a moment to consider it. He might have had some loyalty five thousand years ago, but almost nothing remained. He continued to do what he was told out of inertia more than dedication, and he wouldn’t hesitate to abandon it if he had a good enough reason. And Aziraphale… Aziraphale was one hell of a good reason. Maybe he wasn’t the perfect, infallible being that Crowley believed him to be all those years ago. Maybe he was actually a hedonistic, petty bastard with less empathy than he liked to project and more doubts than he admitted to himself. But he was still his only desire. His greatest treasure. His everything.

He was so close to him now. Close enough to see the sunbeams dancing in his eyes, and the snowflakes caught in his eyelashes, the most beautiful thing he has ever witnessed.

What now? He was confused, utterly, lost in all the possibilities. He didn’t know whether Aziraphale loved him back or not, whether his loyalty was with heaven or with him, whether they would ever be not scared, not tied by their sides. He wanted to say “fuck it” to everything, to ask Aziraphale to do the same, just… let go. And, most of all, Crowley wanted to say “I love you” – the words have been burning on his lips for millennia after all. He has been saying it, again and again, in roundabout ways; through gestures, and looks, and gifts, and being there for him when he needed it most. Just not in words. Never in words.

And he won’t say it now, because it makes no sense to do so. There are two possible consequences of those words, and both are not favorable. If Aziraphale didn’t love him back, there could only be heartbreak, which he wasn’t sure he could survive. But if he did, they couldn’t be together anyway, and he could never do that to his angel – make it even harder for him to resist. Crowley knew what awaited them the minute they’d go from “we aren’t friends” to “we’re actually lovers”. They could never hide it well – they can barely hide the Arrangement! And it was hard enough to resist the risk as it was; he knew that, were Aziraphale to say it, all carefulness would go out the window. And he could never forgive himself if something were to happen to the angel.

No, Crowley had to come up with better ideas. He had to be prepared for everything, have insurance in case of emergency, and be able to deal with any possible outcome. Eventually, he will be sure, but not now. And if Aziraphale is not ready, he will not push him.

-Crowley?

The demon shook his head, startled, realizing that he had zoned out again.

-Sorry. - He muttered. - You were saying?

-That we can’t exactly abandon all precautions. - Aziraphale reminded.

-Of course. - Crowley nodded. - Of course we can’t. Listen, I understand the need for explanations, and if you want, I can keep coming up with them. I have a good imagination. - He added. - But please, stop playing “daredevil in need of rescuing”. I can’t always be there, and I don’t want you rotting in prison.

-You know as well as I do that I don’t _technically_ need you to rescue me. - Aziraphale smiled. - But very well. If you wish, I will leave the planning to you.

-Okay. Yes. Excellent. - Crowley’s mind was racing, trying to decide whether he wanted to stall or not. - So, now that you’re out of prison and not hungry, do you want to check out the city? I’ve spent some time in here a while ago and…

-Sorry. - Another sad smile. - I’d love to stay, but… - He didn’t finish the sentence.

Crowley nodded. He didn’t need to hear the end of that sentence. He didn’t really need Aziraphale to say anything else either.

-I’ll see you around then. - Crowley said, and lowered his sunglasses to look Aziraphale in the eyes. - Goodbye.

Aziraphale hesitated before answering. So many words were left untold that day, but that look he gave him… that look communicated everything, and so much more. Or at least they both hoped it did. Hoped the other could read it in their gaze. Hoped whatever they read in the other’s eyes was true.

-Goodbye. - Aziraphale finally uttered, and, just before turning around and leaving, stepped towards Crowley and squeezed his shoulder through the thick fabric of his winter jacket.

It felt divine, but it also hurt him to the bone - not the touch itself, but the knowledge that he will not be touched that way for decades, probably. Crowley didn’t show it though. The pain was almost unbearable for him; he didn’t want it transferred to Aziraphale.

He stood there for half an hour at least, long after Aziraphale had disappeared from view. Thinking. Remembering. Dreaming.

It would be thirty-seven years until they meet again - in St James Park, England, UK.


	5. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While spending a holiday in New York with Aziraphale, Crowley is hit over the head with a sudden and profound realization.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's getting worse, people. The pining is getting worse. Prepare yourself.

[2] **New York City, 1987**

Dry leaves crunched under the soles of Crowley’s snakeskin shoes as he dragged Aziraphale’s suitcase across the cracked pavement, approaching the Park Chancery Hotel. The suitcase turned over, and he cursed quietly under his breath. The wretched thing was heavy, stuffed to the brim with god knows how many things, and equipped with tiny wheels that could only function on a perfectly even, smooth surface. After the suitcase turned over for the third time, he gave up and proceeded to pick it up and carry it instead. Aziraphale, in turn, was entrusted with Crowley’s bag.

-For hell’s sake, angel, - Crowley huffed, approaching a flight of stairs that seemed to go up ad infinitum, - we’re here for less than a week. How much clothes did you pack?

-You didn’t tell me how long we’d be staying. - Aziraphale pointed out. - You just said, “pack your bag, we’re going to New York, the plane is leaving in two hours”. And I like to come prepared. You know, hot weather, cold weather, no weather…

-Technically, you don’t even need clothes. - Crowley reminded, hugging the suitcase as he climbed the steps one by one. - You can manifest them, like I do.

-_Technically_, - Aziraphale mocked, - you don’t need holidays either! Yet here we are. Besides, it’s not all clothes. You are perfectly aware that I do not take pleasure in traveling. I rather prefer…

He was interrupted by Crowley dropping the suitcase on the ground in order to open the entrance door.

-Careful! - Aziraphale exclaimed. - My favorite mug is in there.

-Favorite mug? - Crowley raised an eyebrow. - Aziraphale, they have _mugs_ at the hotel.

-Yes. - He pouted. - I know. But not my favorite mug.

Crowley opened his mouth, then closed it again, deciding not to argue. He sighed, picked up the suitcase once more and strolled towards the registry counter. They both knew that, were Aziraphale to take his whole shop on the trip with them, Crowley would still end up carrying it everywhere for him, and there was nothing to be done about it.

The girl at the registry seemed very young and terribly exhausted, even considering that it was barely seven in the morning. She yawned, stirred her coffee with a circular motion of her hand, and put on her best customer service smile.

-Good morning, gentlemen. - She greeted. - May I help you?

-Yeah, ah, - Crowley stuttered, - I’ve, uh, called yesterday, to book a room? Anthony Crowley.

-A minute, please, Mr. Crowley. - The girl nodded, and dived under the desk to retrieve a heavy book.

While she flipped through the pages, Crowley leaned casually on the desk, while Aziraphale proceeded to locate the little candy-filled bowl on the counter and sink his fingers into the colorful heap.

-Take one. - Crowley mouthed, watching the angel grab a handful at once. - One.

In response, Aziraphale looked him in the eyes, “I dare you to stop me” written all over his face, and poured a handful into his pocket. Crowley shook his head, smirking, and picked one up himself.

-There you go. - The girl announced.

In the enormous and completely empty lobby, her voice seemed much louder than it actually was.

-17th to 24th. - She said, squinting at the page. - Two bedrooms? - She sounded surprised. -Did they get that right? - She asked, an actually friendly smile on her face.

Crowley swallowed, the implication of her question hitting his brain with the force of a tsunami wave. He looked to Aziraphale, about to mumble something incoherent, and putting all his will into stopping his cheeks from burning red.

-That’s right, - Aziraphale smiled back and checked the girl’s badge, - Laura. Two bedrooms, two beds.

-Okie-dokie. - She nodded, scribbling something down. - Room 27, third floor. Give me another minute and I’ll bring you the key.

-Amusing, isn’t it? -Aziraphale chuckled when she disappeared into the nearby storage closet. - That young lady must have thought that we were a couple!

-Yeah. - Crowley said, now pale instead of flushed.

“Fucking hilarious”, he thought, praying to hell knows what for the girl to leave them alone as soon as possible.

-Actually, - Crowley muttered, feeling the panic rise in his chest, - I’ll meet you on the third floor. Better start climbing those steps now, huh? - He said, grabbing both the suitcase and the bag.

He left before Aziraphale had a chance to point out that the hotel had an elevator.

It was three days earlier - October the fourteenth - when Crowley stopped by Aziraphale’s book shop for a quiet evening of rum-infused tea and fresh gossip. This was a usual occurrence. Wednesday evenings became a tradition of theirs back in the seventies, and both were determined to keep it going for the foreseeable future. That day, after spending an hour discussing all manners of things, from current political developments to the latest scientific discoveries, Crowley accumulated just the right amount of alcohol to be hit with the most brilliant idea.

-The stock market! - He exclaimed, interrupting Aziraphale’s monologue.

-What about it, dear boy?

-Somethin’… something’s gonna happen to it soon. Something bad.

-And where did you get _that_ information? - Aziraphale scoffed.

-Oh, I know. - Crowley shrugged. - I’m good with numbers. Anyway. I’ve been, eh, _encouraged_, let’s say, to go to the States and wreak some havoc. But! I don’t think that’s needed. I think humans will manage just fine.

-And you will take credit for it, of course.

-Of course. So. - He hiccupped. - I was thinking… if the market will crash, that will be bad, but humans are smarter now and they will recover from it, which is good. And they’ll do it all without our intervention.

-What are you suggesting? - Aziraphale asked, intrigued.

-I am suggesting, - Crowley said, - that we go to New York, and watch the Wall Street from up close, and then I’ll say that I crashed the market, and you will say that you helped them recover without major consequences.

-Huh. - Aziraphale paused. - And what if it doesn’t actually crash?

-Then we will just have a holiday in New York. - Crowley said. - It’s a win-win!

-But you know the head office won’t care either way. - Aziraphale pointed out. - I’m not sure they even know what a stock market is.

-Of course they don’t care. - Crowley smirked. - But you like excuses, don’t you? And I’ve been asking you on a holiday for _years_. Come on. - He teased, pouring some extra rum into Aziraphale’s tea. - Say yes.

And so, he did say yes.

Which is how Crowley got to where he was - sitting in the still empty lobby of the hotel, chugging his second glass of mineral water, hiding from Aziraphale, and trying to calm himself down.

He was fine. Obviously! Some girl who had met them three seconds prior has mistaken them for boyfriends. Big deal! It didn’t affect Crowley at all. It _didn__’t_ make him briefly abandon his corporeal form due to an unforeseen heart attack. He _didn__’t_ immediately fabricate a detailed back-story of how they got together and what their wedding will look like. He _wasn__’t _sweating in this lumpy seat, trying to gather his strength to somehow return to their room and help Aziraphale unpack. He got it. All he needed was another sip of that mineral water…

-Would you like some ice with that?

The question made Crowley flinch. He looked up to see Laura the registry desk girl standing nearby, a tray pressed under her arm.

-Or some lemon wedges, maybe?

-No, I’m good. - Crowley assured her, and poured himself the last of the water.

-I can bring you another bottle then. - She suggested.

“Go away go away go away”, Crowley repeated in his mind.

-No thank you. - The polite smile turned out rather crooked. - Don’t you have other clients to deal with? - He added, hoping that the girl will get the hint and leave him alone.

-Not at seven-thirty in the morning, I don’t. - She responded. - When did your plane land?

-Five.

-Jeez. - She chuckled. - You should go have a nap. The jetlag must be mad, coming here all the way from England.

Crowley didn’t have jetlag, but he wouldn’t mind a nap right now. Twelve, maybe thirteen years of a nap.

-How’s the bed, by the way? - Laura seemed dedicated to not leaving his side. - The double should be okay for two, I guess, but it really depends. My ex Patrick for example, he used to sleep almost sideways. - She smiled. - We barely fit on a king-sized bed. And he hogged the blanket. Does yours hog the blanket?

Crowley sighed and pushed his shades further up his nose.

-We aren’t a couple. - He said, calmly.

-Oh, come on. - She teased, letting go of the last threads of professionalism. - I get being cautious and all that, but trust me, I don’t mind. My big brother Danny is gay. - Laura explained. - He lives in California with his boyfriend. I love them both to bits! They’re family.

-Good for you. - Crowley replied. - We still aren’t together.

-Yeah, sure. - She smirked. - I’m telling ya, it’s _fine_. I work in a hotel, I can keep secrets. No one will know, I promise. - And she peered at him, expecting a change of tune.

Crowley laughed. - Sorry, still not together!

-Please! - She laughed back, and then glanced left and right, making sure no one was listening in. - Whom are you trying to fool here? - She half-whispered. - I mean, I’ve seen about four minutes of you two and that was enough. You practically radiate affection whenever you’re next to him. You carried his luggage all the way upstairs! And the way you look at him… it’s true love.

-Yeah? - Crowley was losing it now. - The way I look at him? Tell me then, does he look back at me like that, huh?

He raised an eyebrow, momentarily triumphant in his “gotcha” moment, but Laura just smiled.

-Yes. - She said. - Yeah, dude, he does.

Crowley blinked, feeling his fingers clench on the cold surface of the glass. Was she implying..? No. Yes! No, definitely no… or was she? Did he..? _Was_ he..?

-I’m sorry. - Crowley muttered, getting up on shaky legs. - I need to go for a walk.

He walked like a zombie towards the exit, practically fell through the door frame, stumbled down the stairs and disappeared into a grove of maple trees behind the hotel. There he stopped, pressed his forehead against one tree’s rough bark, and produced a stifled, silent scream.

It was all making sense now! All the little things he hadn’t been noticing (or, perhaps, was just trying very hard to ignore) over the past few decades were arranging into a picture. He has never considered it before. Didn’t dare to consider. Until today.

Today, standing ankle-deep in autumn leaves and hugging a maple tree, Anthony J Crowley realized: there was a rather high probability that Aziraphale loved him back.

The rest of the day went by in a sort of a grey haze that enveloped Crowley’s mind and allowed him to stay at least somewhat sane while inches away from Aziraphale at any given moment. The days weren’t hard anyway. They had things to do, activities - art gallery, central park, restaurants, coffee shops, and so on. They had safe, general topics to discuss, and there were people around them, constantly.

Crowley felt so much safer in a crowd. They had the wonderful effect of distracting, masking his true emotions. You could disappear in a crowd, become a part of it, and cease to be an individual. He was there, with Aziraphale, sure… but also with other people: snapping photos on his polaroid, making comments about the scenery, and behaving like any other tourist would. He wasn’t quite himself, and, therefore, it was almost fun.

Except then the evening came, and the sky was set on fire with pink and purple hues of the dusk, and the air acquired a fresh, spicy scent of cold earth and autumn. Crowley asked Aziraphale whether he wanted to go back to central park, go for a walk there, but he didn’t. Instead, the angel suggested they returned to the hotel.

And so, they walked the narrow, gently lit streets back to the building, climbed up to the second floor, and picked a table for two at the hotel’s restaurant. The pianist played classical pieces and old-school jazz music. The waiter brought champagne. And there they sat - furthest corner of the hall, right next to the balcony, far away from the crowd, just the two of them. No masks. Nowhere to hide.

-The champagne is surprisingly good for a bottle of 82. - Aziraphale commented, and took another sip. - The taste is very rich. Overly sweet though, for my liking.

-Uh-hu. - Crowley nodded, mindlessly.

By now he had stopped counting the imaginary heart attacks and developed a whole technique of wiping his slippery palms on his jeans.

-I thought you didn’t like sweet for champagne. - Aziraphale pointed out.

-I don’t. - Crowley agreed. - But I, uh, also think the, well, whatever you said before that.

He pinched himself under the table as soon as the phrase was over, wishing there were stronger curse words for conducting his mental monologue. Aziraphale, on the other hand, gave him a subtle smile.

-I’m boring you. - He said. - Understandable. Not your area of expertise. So. What did you think of the neo-expressionism collection?

Phew. That was easy. Crowley could certainly talk art, or literature, or any manner of things that did not directly involve the two of them. He just needed to get in the “presenting down at head office” mindset, and then it was okay.

Up until Aziraphale gestured for him to pause, then leaned over the table and let his fingers into the threads of Crowley’s long hair. It lasted four, maybe five seconds, but to Crowley, it felt like eternity. He didn’t realize the purpose of that action until Aziraphale removed the hand, an auburn leaf pressed between his thumb and index finger.

-Sorry to interrupt you, my dear. - Aziraphale said, hiding the leaf away. - Please, continue.

But Crowley couldn’t.

He had spent that day analyzing the angel’s every word and every move, searching for signs, for indications of his true feelings. Like a natural philosopher, he had dissected their every interaction, looked through a microscope in search of tiniest details; the way Aziraphale spoke to him, or looked at him, or positioned himself in space so as to end up closer to him or brush against his shoulder… One part of Crowley wanted to dismiss this out of hand as wishful thinking, downright delusional. The other craved, longed for it to be true.

-I… seem to have lost my train of thought. - Crowley confessed with a stifled laugh. - Anything else you wanted to talk about?

Aziraphale didn’t reply. He was busy watching the nearby table, where a couple - a man and a woman, both in their early twenties - chatted and giggled over untouched plates.

-It was peculiar, this morning. - Aziraphale said quietly, still watching the table.

-What was?

-The girl at the registry office, who thought we were a couple. - The angel smiled, switching his gaze from the table to Crowley. - I wonder what made her make that assumption about us.

Crowley gulped. This was his worst nightmare personified. Not only was he forced to live through that incident again, he now had to actually discuss it.

-Who knows. - He shrugged, gathering his last threads of sanity. - Humans are strange that way with their customs. One day it is perfectly normal to greet your friends with a kiss on the mouth, and the other standing too close to each other is considered indecent.

-Certainly, - Aziraphale nodded, - humans are terribly inconsistent with their rules and rituals. - He paused. - Still. I just thought it was amusing. - He chuckled, as if to illustrate his point. - Us. Together. As a couple. How would that even look like?

Crowley blinked, and felt something in his chest break and shatter into a million tiny pieces, making his whole body hurt worse than it did when he crashed down from heaven.

It would look like holding hands in the park, and cuddling on the sofa in Aziraphale’s bookshop, and kissing him under the moonlight on the roof of Crowley’s apartment block. It would look like making coffee in the morning and falling asleep in his arms at night. It would look like locking the door and drawing the curtains to cover his body in kisses and steal gasps and moans from his lips. It would look like settling down together, moving to his bookshop one potted plant or piece of art at a time, until Aziraphale would forget ever living without him. It would look like asking him out to the fanciest restaurant he could think of and getting on one knee to ask him a question. It would look like everything that Crowley had ever wanted.

-Don’t know. - Crowley said, lowering his sunglasses to look Aziraphale in the eyes. - What do you think?

Aziraphale didn’t reply, and he didn’t need to. Something strange was happening to Crowley. The restaurant around him melted away into nothing, the music fell silent in his ears, and the only thing that remained in his dizzying, mad, impossible world was the angel’s eyes. The light danced on his face. Just a hint of a smile appeared on his lips. And his gaze, full of fear, and hope, and something else. Something precious.

“I love you” was already in Crowley’s throat and on Crowley’s tongue. Right there. “I love you”. He would say it. He thought it a million times, but this one, he really was done waiting. And, from the way Aziraphale was looking at him, it was just about possible that he was finally ready.

He breathed in, his breath uneven, ragged. His lips parted, and he prepared himself to hear his own voice saying those words at last…

Then he stopped.

He stopped, got up, and, feeling the tears boil in his eyes, mumbled:

-I’m sorry.

And rushed out of the room.

Maybe, Aziraphale was ready. But Crowley wasn’t.

He sat in the lobby, as far away from the crowd as he could manage, and sipped whiskey from a glass that was, by now, about half melted down ice. He wasn’t in the mood to get drunk. Alcohol could dull down his brain and make him forget, but he didn’t want that. He wanted to be in the moment, to feel, and to remember. No matter how much it hurt.

-Hey. What’s the matter?

Crowley didn’t even lift his head when he heard a familiar voice nearby.

-You again. - Crowley muttered, shaking his head. - Like a bad penny.

-Sorry. - She seemed embarrassed. - I know I’ve been stepping over the line all day. I’ll leave you to it if you’d rather sulk alone.

-Not at all. - Crowley disagreed. - Please. Sit down. - And he moved sideways on the bench. - What was your name again?

-Laura.

-Right.

-What… - She hesitated. - What happened then?

He was about to explain - calm, collected, and reasonable. But instead of an explanation, a sob escaped from his lips, and he covered his face with his palms to stop the tears from pouring.

-Oh, I’m sorry. - Laura said, and, cautiously, put a hand on his shoulder.

Crowley wanted to wriggle out, but instead found himself moving in closer, and, somehow, ended up in the girl’s arms. He didn’t realize how much he needed a hug. He didn’t even remember the last time anyone held him like that. A century ago, a few of them? Hell, it might have been back in Ancient Jerusalem.

-Did you have a fight? - Laura asked when they moved away from each other.

Crowley chuckled and shook his head, slowly regaining his calm. - The opposite. - He replied.

-Where’s Mr. Fell then?

-Don’t know. - He shrugged. - Either still drinking that champagne upstairs, or back at our rooms. I just.. - He paused. - I couldn’t stand it anymore. Couldn’t stand being there with him and _not_ being with him.

-Oh you poor thing. - Laura frowned. - You really aren’t a couple then.

-We really aren’t. - He smiled sadly.

-So, how long… - She began, still unsure whether she should be having this conversation. - How long have you been in love with him?

-Longer than you think. - He responded. - Too long.

-And you never told him?

-We can’t be together. - Crowley explained. - We just can’t.

-Listen. - She sighed. - I know that it is hard, very hard. Being gay, I mean. I’ve seen it firsthand, but I can’t even begin to imagine. My Danny, well… our dad nearly killed him the day they found out, and mum won’t even speak to him now. Her own son! - She shook her head. - But it’s not all bad. Danny and Michael, they’ve been together for three years now and they adore each other. Yes, they have to keep it a secret, and they can’t even get married, but every time I come to visit, I can see that it is worth it. And it is possible.

-For them, maybe. - Crowley told her. - Not for us.

-What, even if you are only together behind closed doors?

-We can’t ever hide it. Not really.

-Damn. - She couldn’t help but laugh, nervously. - What are you, secret agents of two rival countries?

The side of Crowley’s mouth went up in a subtle smile. He turned towards Laura, looked at her, then slowly removed his sunglasses. Just for a few seconds. Just long enough for her to see.

-Okay. - She nodded, turning away from him. - I get it. I mean, I have no idea who the hell the two of you are, but I think I believe you now.

-Six thousand years. - Crowley said. - How long I’ve been in love with him. Almost six thousand years. I move through the centuries one by one, watching him from afar. Like a shadow. And as time goes, I feel like there are pieces of me that I am losing. Pieces that just wither away and turn to dust because of how much I have to keep inside. And I fear, - he paused, and downed the rest of his whiskey water in one gulp, - I fear that, one day, even if something changes… one day, there will be no more pieces left.

-I’m so sorry. - Laura whispered, and put her hand on top of Crowley’s. - I wish I could say something that would help, but I very much doubt there are such words.

-You helped already. - He replied. - Thank you. Now, tell me… do you have a crush on anyone, Laura?

-Well. -She paused. - There is one guy…

-Tell him. - Crowley said. - Go out today, find him, and tell him. Ask him out on a date. Fall in love with him. Spend your life with him, or with someone else, doesn’t matter. Be disgustingly happy with someone. Because you can.

-Okay. - She smiled. - Are you gonna wipe my memory now or something? - She asked, half-joking, half-worried.

-Should I? - Crowley asked.

-I won’t tell anyone. - She blurted out. - I mean, I’m not even sure what there is to tell. But whatever it is, no one will ever know.

-Good. - He nodded. - You won’t speak to _him, _I hope.

-God no. - Laura assured him. - I promise. - But. - She took a deep breath in. - I think _you_ should tell him. Even if you can’t be together… he should still know.

Crowley smiled. He remembered the way Aziraphale looked at him from across the table just an hour ago, and felt that terrible, wonderful ache again.

Oh, - he said, a melancholic smile still lingering on his lips, -…I think he already knows.


	6. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few days after the Apocalypse that didn't happen and more than six thousand years after he fell, it is finally time:  
time to tell Aziraphale that he loves him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this fic has been quite a journey for me. I put a lot of effort into it and I hope it payed off.

[1] **London, 2019**

_He gets out of the car and leans in, waiting, expecting to be invited inside as per usual, and Aziraphale disappears behind a closed door._

_He asks him to run away with him for the first time and, in return, hears _ _“there is no our side”, and “we aren’t friends”, and “I don’t even like you”._

_He asks again, begs him almost, and receives a sad, cold look and a soft but downright pitying _ _“I forgive you”; the last words he says to him are far from kind._

_He runs into the burning shop and drowns in smoke and flames - searching, shouting, eyes filling with tears as it strikes him - it_ _’s over. He will never see Aziraphale again…_

When Crowley woke up in his bed - panting, the sheets stuck to his bare, damp skin - the sunbeams were already blasting through the rips and holes in the blackout curtains. He rubbed his eyes and wiped the cold sweat off his forehead. A nightmare. Not the most pleasant way to end a nap. Still, he thought, slipping out of bed and placing his feet on the polished smooth floor - after the week he’s had, some disturbing dreams were inevitable.

He practically had to drag himself into the kitchen, his body still stiff, head still dizzy after the sleep. He checked his watch and blinked. Nine thirty-three am on a Wednesday meant that he had slept for a bit longer than a day. “Could have been worse”, he thought to himself, and yawned, close to dislocating his jaw in the process. What he needed now was a drink - except, no matter where he looked, he couldn’t find a single mug, cup, or glass. With a shrug, Crowley grabbed a soup bowl from the counter, filled it with tap water, and downed its entire contents in one go.

The world seemed empty today. Unreal, out of focus. As if the background hasn’t rendered completely, and his brain was left to fill in the details. Crowley refilled the bowl and stepped across the dark kitchen floor towards the windowsill, where the sunlight danced on the leaves of his favorite geraniums. He paused, eyes focusing on one particular plant which seemed a tad bit wilted. When his fingers brushed the sagging stem, the plant shook gently.

-Don’t sweat it. - Crowley tutted. - I won’t do a thing to you. You have every right to be wilted anyway. - He touched the dried-out soil and sighed. - I haven’t watered you lot since Thursday.

He took one last sip from the bowl and poured the remaining liquid in the pot.

-To be fair to me, - Crowley added, already on his way to get the watering can, - I hardly had the time. What in the middle of Apocalypse and all.

And it certainly was fair. Funny how your memory works, Crowley thought while filling the watering can. When he looked back at his life on Earth, some days stood out as more event-filled then some centuries. He witnessed countless wars, disasters, and revolutions - so many that they had a tendency to blend into one giant colorful blob. It was hard to keep track of everything too. Is that how he will remember last week a century from now? One mess of a memory, all congealed into a chunk of events and emotions, like marshmallows that have been left out in sunlight for too long.

It hasn’t been that long, of course. They dined at the Ritz on Sunday, and he immediately retreated to his place afterward, trying desperately to process everything that has happened. Being alone didn’t help. Calling that nice lady at Samaritans didn’t help. His last resort - the nap - didn’t help either. And the more minutes passed, the harder it got to believe that all of _that_ was actually real.

It’s not every week that you go from thinking the world was going to end, trying to stop Armageddon with your best friend whom you’ve desperately loved for millennia, then asking him to run away with you, getting a no twice, and almost losing him, now not caring whether the world was going to end or not since _he_ was your world anyway. You don’t confront the literal Satan every day either. Though, it had to be said that Crowley was more worried about seeing Aziraphale again than facing the Great Beast. “…I won’t even think of you” is not the best thing to end a conversation on. Leaving that burning bookshop, he wasn’t sure what hurt more - the possibility of losing Aziraphale, or the thought that they parted ways on that line.

On the other hand, Aziraphale threatened to never speak to him ever again, so perhaps they were even.

Later that day, when they sat at a bus stop under the deep, dark, beautiful night sky, Crowley felt so many things that he found it easier to not address either of them. The image and the atmosphere of standing on that airbase, with the world no longer ending and Satan gone, and thinking that, maybe, just maybe, he was given a second chance at this after he blew it so completely… it was like being drunk on the best wine in the world. Something happened between them on that bench, something unspoken and unspeakable. They sat there, and spoke to each other, and their hands brushed together more than once, and after all the grief and tears and anger, it brought immense relief. They were okay now. More than okay, even.

They held hands on the bus that took them back to London. They kept holding hands when they got off the bus, and walked for who knows how many minutes to Crowley’s flat. They didn’t think it through, didn’t need an explanation or an excuse. It seemed like the most natural thing, to simply hold on to each other. Then they sat in the kitchen with lights dimmed down. They discussed, and argued, and planned, until both were quite sure that they’ve cracked it, figured it out. That they were ready.

They didn’t rehearse it or give each other advice; both were absolutely certain that the other knew him so well, it would take more than a miracle for others to call their bluff. They weren’t sure that it would work though, far from it. So, when they hugged each other and held each other close, both were aware that it might be the last time they see each other. Crowley wanted to say it too, then, but didn’t; it almost seemed too trivial, too obvious. “I love you” didn’t cut it - walking into a certain trap wearing each other’s faces seemed rather more significant.

When they dined at the Ritz, Crowley was still too wrapped up in their triumph, still reluctant to believe that it had actually worked. He shut off his mental monologue and drowned himself in happiness, champagne, and the angel’s eyes. It was much later that night, right when they were about to part ways in front of the bookshop, when it hit him - they were safe. Safer than they had been anyway, which was all that he needed, really. They didn’t have sides anymore. They would no longer be endangering themselves by their closeness. That realization… that was too much for him to handle in one go. And when Aziraphale broke his pattern and asked him inside, Crowley panicked. Just before he wished Aziraphale goodnight and escaped into the dark, the angel still managed to place a soft, warm kiss on his cheek.

Crowley smiled, freezing mid-step in the living room. He brought his hand to his face and brushed his fingers along his cheekbone, remembering. Silly him. He didn’t have to be scared. After everything they went through, together, nor heaven or hell could stand in their way anymore. These words, they seemed more like a formality than a real gesture - but they had to be said.

-Tell me, - Crowley said to an orchid and sprayed it with a mist of water, - do you ever postpone things for a ve-e-ery long time? Unpleasant things, for example. Like ripping off the band-aid, or starting work on a tedious project. - He moved on to the next plant. - I had this friend once who had tooth decay, and he kept putting off going to the dentist, until one day the infection spread to his brain and he died. - He paused to cut off a dry leaf off a hibiscus plant. - Actually, he didn’t. I’m exaggerating. He just had to pay way more for the treatment, and it was much nastier, too. Procrastination - bad, that’s my point. - He set the spray bottle down onto the windowsill. - And the longer you wait, the scarier it gets. The anticipation of the pain is greater than the pain itself.

He took a deep breath in, went back to the kitchen, picked up the phone and dialed Aziraphale’s number. He picked up immediately.

-Hello, angel. - He said, and he could see that grin from miles away. - Don’t say anything back, okay? I, uh, yeah, I’m sorry I disappeared for two days. Let’s meet at St James’s park. Now. Actually, you know what, stay where you are, I’ll come pick you up. Bye.

And he hung up before Aziraphale had a chance to fit in a word.

-No going back now. - Crowley muttered.

He spent the next half an hour walking around his apartment in circles, talking to himself and painstakingly rehearsing everything that he needed to say. He owed it to his past self to finally get it right.

Crowley drove slowly and safely, deliberately taking the longest route possible, and stopped about a mile away from the bookshop to cover the last bit on foot. Out in Soho, the weather continued to be outrageously lovely. The air was warm and smooth, and a gentle wind stirred and whisked a faint scent of flowers along the busy streets. The birds kept singing, the sun kept shining, and the sky seemed almost supernaturally blue.

He stopped when he was about a minute away, and breathed in deeply. He had to take the next step now, but it felt impossible; like in a dream, when you are running away from the monster, but find yourself stuck, unable to move. Stupid. He was almost afraid to look at the bookshop. It was only natural, Crowley thought to himself. After so many centuries of living in fear, never escaping it, never getting a respite, it was strange to find yourself in a fear-less world. He shook his head and forced himself to look at the bookshop. There, at the edge of the glass, was Aziraphale, peering out into the streets. Their eyes met. Crowley smiled. And Aziraphale disappeared behind a bookshelf. Like a ghost, a vision at the edge of his conscious mind, waiting for him. Now he could take another step.

Crowley was hoping that the shop would be open, that he would make a dramatic entrance and conjure up a convenient excuse for everyone to leave; like a sudden text message telling them that the alarm went off at their house, or their kid needed to see them urgently at school. Instead, Crowley was greeted by a sight of a closed door. The usual opening hours card was replaced by a hastily written “closed until further notice” sign, and the lights were dimmed down inside. He raised an eyebrow and wrapped his fingers around the door handle. It might have been locked for everyone else, but it always opened for Crowley - because Crowley wasn’t everyone else, and he was welcomed in the bookshop. Always.

He walked through the empty aisles and felt his anxiety flicker out, replaced by something else entirely. Excitement. That cold, fluttering buzz that you feel in your stomach just before a roller coaster reaches the peak and dives down. Crowley loved amusement parks. He took Aziraphale there once, and bribed him with cotton candy to go on a ride with him… it was both the first and the last time they were in an amusement park together.

-Aziraphale? - Crowley called out, stepping across the dusty floor.

-Over here. - Came the reply.

Crowley followed the voice until he found himself in a room he could swear he had never seen before, with a table set up for tea, and Aziraphale sitting across from him.

-Oh. - Crowley said. - You were expecting me.

-You did call. - Aziraphale reminded.

-Yes. Yes, I did. This is… nice. - He smiled. - But listen, I was going to take you out to St James’s.

Indeed, while he was circling his dining table at home, Crowley imagined the park as his perfect setting. It would be empty, of course, by the time they arrived. Surprisingly, miraculously empty.

-Yes. Lovely. Jolly good. - Aziraphale mumbled, smiling awkwardly. - But could we have some tea first? I insist.

-Alright. - Crowley shrugged, and took a seat.

Did the angel just start a race out of who would say it first? Cause Crowley _had_ to win this one, what after these many years of waiting.

-So. - Aziraphale said, pouring himself a cup of tea. - I’m trying out a new blend. I hope you will enjoy it. - He poured another cup and slid it across the table to Crowley, who managed to take it just in time to let their fingers brush. - It has an absolutely delightful aroma, but I am not quite sure about the taste.

Crowley picked up the cup and gulped down the liquid, not realizing it was piping hot. He didn’t taste a thing.

-It’s not terrible. - He commented, setting down the cup.

-Quite bitter. - Aziraphale added, after tasting himself. - Perhaps I should add less chamomile next time.

-Uh-hu. - The side of Crowley’s mouth went up in a smirk.

-How are you feeling then? - Aziraphale continued. - How did you spend the last two days?

-Are we seriously doing this? - Crowley chuckled, not even trying to hide his longing gaze. - Just sitting here doing small talk, like we’re two acquaintances who haven’t seen each other for a year? It’s idiotic. - He smiled. - Let’s go for a walk instead.

In response, Crowley was given a heavy, loaded look, and, for the first time since he walked in, the demon noticed the slight tremble in Aziraphale’s fingers.

-Let me do this, please. - Aziraphale whispered, and Crowley nodded. - We will go for a walk later. The weather is quite charming today.

-And now we’re talking about the weather. - Crowley snorted. - Sorry. I’m sorry. Keep talking.

He wanted to be patient and let him speak, he really did. Except what he wanted even more was to be in the park, and to recite his speech, and finally be free of everything he had been holding on to since the dawn of time.

-Funny. - Aziraphale muttered. - I am still getting used to this new… thing. The new world.

-Me too. - Crowley nodded.

-And I was, uh, - he stuttered, - thinking, about what it means… for us. - He paused. - For our future.

-You did not prepare for this at all, did you? - Crowley smiled softly, leaning in across the table. - Cause I did. Let’s go for a walk.

-Uh, well, regardless. - Aziraphale stumbled, ignoring the last remark. - Do you read newspapers?

-Twitter. - Crowley shrugged. - Regrettably. Also, I read the comments under kitten livestreams sometimes.

Aziraphale, who had no idea what either Twitter or a kitten livestream was, nodded as if he knew exactly what it was.

-I was just saying then. - The angel continued. - Did you know the humans are still discovering additional details about the renewed world? Just this morning, I read that the last few holes in the ozone layer are no longer detectable.

-Neat. – Crowley chuckled. – The kid got a bit carried away, didn’t he?

-Perhaps. – The angel nodded. – But I think it is wonderful all the same. I really was concerned about that island made of plastic, but apparently, it has miraculously disappeared over the weekend.

-Well that’s just cheating! - Crowley exclaimed. - I mean, seriously, he can’t go around fixing all of their problems. First of all, head office is already furious and the kid is trying his luck with them, and second, the humans got to take responsibility for their own damn actions sometime.

-Oh, I rather think they will. – Aziraphale disagreed. – You know all of the extraordinary weather patterns that they observed last week? Most scientists are blaming it on climate change, and the people are furious. They are going out on strikes and protests all over the world. – He smiled, a proud, satisfied look on his face. – Demanding action at last.

-Like no one has ever tried that before. – Crowley scoffed.

-Must you be so pessimistic? – Aziraphale asked with a slight frown.

-Not pessimistic. – He retorted. – Realistic. I’ve seen it all before and I’m not convinced.

-Have some faith in them, Crowley. – Aziraphale took another sip of the tea and set the winged mug down on the table. – Combined with the efforts of my department, I do think they stand a chance of fixing it this time.

-I wouldn’t bet on _your_ department. – Crowley responded. – They all think they’re doing the right thing, both the eco-activists and the oil company executives. It’s not a matter of good intentions, but of science literacy. And who do you think has more scientists, your lot or mine?

Aziraphale decided to ignore that last remark.

-Goodness, Crowley, must you turn everything into a bitter lesson about not learning from your mistakes?

-And why the hell do you have to turn everything into an opportunity to promote the Jesus, Sunshine, and Rainbows brand? - Crowley waved his hands around in the absence of additional arguments. - It’s infuriating!

-Brand? - Aziraphale seemed appalled. - It is not a brand of any sort. It’s just me seeing the best in people, and appreciating the small, happy things, and hoping for the best! And it has nothing to do with my side, I can assure you, since I don’t even have a side anymore. It’s all me. - He repeated for emphasis. - So you don’t have an excuse either now, dear boy.

And he leaned back in his seat, a smug, satisfied expression on his face.

Crowley shook his head, laughing. Ridiculous! Here they were, bickering about nonsense again, as they’ve always had. He sighed. There were several things he could say to him now to instantly win back the argument. Something funny and sarcastic, or dark and poignant, or simply petty. He was half-way to saying “you told me that the world was over and we could all go home now when I spilled gin on your copy of Sandman so who is the overreacting pessimist here huh?”. But instead…

-I love you. - Crowley said.

A thousand thoughts rushed through his brain all at once, and he felt as if time has frozen up again, condensing around him like a layer of glass. He watched Aziraphale’s face change from a smug grin to a complete absence of emotions. It was rather unsettling, but he didn’t - couldn’t, even - care about it anymore.

-You hear me? - Crowley said, holding back a smile. - I love you, Aziraphale.

-Yes. – The angel muttered. – Quite right too.

Now that the first step was made, Crowley simply couldn’t help but keep going. He took off his shades, looked Aziraphale in the eyes and braced himself for whatever was to come out of his mouth next.

-I mean it. – He continued. – I love you. And not just like a friend, I actually love you. More than I’ve ever loved anything in my life. And I’ve always had. Six thousand years. Since day one. Since the first time we ever spoke to each other. I’ve always loved you, _always_, all this time… and I think you know this already, but I had to say it.

Aziraphale was still silent. He looked at Crowley as if the demon was a masterful but perplexing work of art.

-Say something. – Crowley almost begged. – Please. I don’t care what, just say something.

But Aziraphale didn’t comply. Instead, he put a soft palm on the side of Crowley’s face, leaned forward across the table, and kissed him.

Crowley didn’t remember that moment very well. Everything about it: Aziraphale’s hand on his cheek, his breath on his face, the peppermint and lavender taste on his lips, the earth-shaking, glass-shattering realization that “oh God/Satan/whoever, this is really happening”… it was a bit too much for his consciousness to handle. He knew that he kissed back - with that same gentle respect, but also passion and yearning that had been trapped in him - and put a hand over Aziraphale’s palm, and felt his heart beat so fast, it threatened to break through his ribcage. He also knew that, at some point, they both got up, and wrapped their arms around each other, and kept kissing. And couldn’t stop. Couldn’t even pause for breath. As if _that_ was their oxygen, as if their very life depended on it. Kissed, and laughed, and hugged, and stroked each other’s skin, and bathed in the waves of warmth that washed over their bodies.

When Aziraphale finally did say something, it was a candid, whispered:

-Of course I love you too.

And it sent shivers down Crowley’s spine.

-I was planning on saying it first. - Aziraphale added. - But it seems you beat me to it.

-That was the plan. - Crowley smiled. - I was going to take you out on a walk. I had a whole speech.

-You can still give me the speech. - He assured him. - We’ll go for a walk. Today. As soon as I figure out how to let go of you, that is.

-Don’t. - Crowley replied, and pressed his nose into the angel’s neck. - I’m not letting go of you, ever.

-It will be mighty inconvenient to drive in such a manner. - Aziraphale chuckled, but tightened his grip. - But we will manage.

-Uh-hu. - Crowley muttered. - Say… you knew, right?

-What?

-You knew that I loved you, yeah?

-I think I did. - Aziraphale nodded. - Deep down. But I didn’t quite allow myself to know. The last few decades, especially.

-Okay.

-I’m so sorry, dear. - He kissed Crowley’s forehead, then his cheek. - So sorry you had to carry the truth inside you for so long. When I think how much you have suffered…

Crowley heard just the hint of tears in his voice and squeezed his palm.

-Please don’t start crying, cause if you start crying, I will start crying, and then I’m not sure I will ever stop.

-Alright. - Aziraphale sniffed. - I will not. But it’s okay if you want to. I have you. It’s all over now. It is, like you’ve said, okay.

Crowley wasn’t sure just how long they spent like that, holding each other, enjoying the feeling of being so close at last. They must have let go of each other eventually, because they ended up in St James’ Park, just as he planned, walking along the empty streets, hand in hand, just as he wanted.

-Quite a speech you came up with, dear boy. - Aziraphale remarked, playing with Crowley’s fingers. - Did it take you long?

-Eh, - Crowley mumbled, - about six thousand years? Plus half an hour extra, to put it into words.

They made a turn on a narrow alley filled with apple trees, and Crowley stopped near a tiny, crumbling statue of a cherub.

-This is where. - He said, with a warm smile. - This is where I would have told you, if we had made it here before.

-You can still say it, you know. - Aziraphale pointed out. - In fact, now you can say it however many times you like.

-You’re right. - Crowley nodded. - This is where I would pause, and look at you, - he demonstrated the affectionate gaze, - and say, I love you, Aziraphale.

-And I, - Aziraphale replied, - would take your hand, - and he let go of Crowley’s palm just so he could take it again, - and I’d say, I love you too, dear.

-Right.

There they stood, feeling the sun on their faces, completely happy, utterly lost of what to say next.

-And then? - Aziraphale chuckled.

-You know, - Crowley grinned, - I have absolutely no idea. I didn’t think I would get to that point.

-Well, - the angel responded, - I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Crowley, but you were never especially talented at carrying out your tasks till the end.

-Shots fired, angel. - Crowley said, dipping his sunglasses, a smirk on his face.

-Indeed, dear. - Aziraphale nodded. - As the youths say these days, get wrecked.

-Who taught you that?! - Crowley couldn’t help but laugh out.

-I’ll tell you later. Now, - he took Crowley’s hand once again, and they resumed their walk, - have I told you about the theatre review column this week? Because I have a most strong opinion, and I do believe you will agree with me on this. It’s about…

Crowley tried his best to listen, but as they walked, it became harder and harder to focus on the details, until Aziraphale’s words blended into a continuous string of sounds. The moment was perfect. Here he was, holding his best friend’s - no, his lover’s - hand, having survived the end of the world and a trial in hell (or, in his case, in heaven). He should have been happier than ever, and he was - but he was also confused, and terrified. Not because of what might happen to them due to their connection, but because Crowley had absolutely no idea what to do now.

So many years of persuading himself that this would never happen, and it felt like standing on top of a cliff, looking down. All of those things he dreamed about will soon be real. Will his skin still burn under the angel’s touch? Will seeing him smile still take his breath away? Frankly, he wasn’t sure he would be able to handle all of that affection. Several hundred years of memorizing every accidental brushing of their fingers, and they haven’t let go of each other for long since morning.

Still, that wasn’t at all terrible, was it? Crowley didn’t know how to handle these things, but he also didn’t have to figure it out alone. There would be no more guessing, and code words, and excuses, and long gazes meant to communicate something they weren’t allowed to say. Now they could just talk to each other. Ask each other questions. Help each other out on this new, amazing, fascinating, exciting, terrifying ordeal. And if Crowley made it through the centuries of war, famine, global epidemics, natural disasters, human stupidity, and incessant, unending pining… he was quite certain that he could handle this “being together” deal just as well.

He squeezed Aziraphale’s hand and nodded, determined to start paying attention to his words. And as they stepped across the pavement, almost in sync, he realized: this is where he was going all those years. This is where Crowley was always meant to be.

One story had ended today, and another has just begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end... or is it really? Feel free to go to my works and read some fluffy post-canon Ineffable Husbands fics. You deserve it after getting through this much pining and angst.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on tumblr for more Good Omens content (and other things): bootstrapparadoxed.tumblr.com  
And if you like this story, please consider leaving kudos, writing a comment, and/or sharing it on your social media of choice!


End file.
